Another Piece of Blue
by Mark of the Asphodel
Summary: His sworn oath was to defend his king and country. Building an empire should never have come into it. Cain gets by in the brave new world. Post-FE3.
1. Summer

**Another Piece of Blue**

Warnings: Spoilers for FE3, some adult language and references to adult situations.

Pairings: Mostly canon with some Cecil/Rody and a hint of unrequited Cain/Palla, and maybe a smidgen of unrequited Cain/somebody else. Just FYI.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Monshou no Nazo_, or any of the characters therein.

_Year 608_

* * *

As Your Highness knows, this was an exceptionally poor year for revenue. However, an influx of citizens from the lands of Grust has increased the potential base of taxpayers..."

A spider descended on its invisible supports behind the pitted glass of the window that lay just past Sir Melchor's shoulder. Cain allowed his attention to wander away from the Lord Treasurer's speculations about revenue projections; the spider seemed to struggle in the wind, yet made a series of stubborn attempts at spinning a web. Cain was silently cheering the spider's tenacity when he heard his name spoken; even with the distraction, Cain was enough attuned to the moods of his sovereign that he wasn't caught completely off guard when Prince Marth skipped the usual order around the table and asked Cain for his report.

"Cain. How are your latest trainees faring?"

"Of our current class of squires, five are doing well, and the sixth is putting forth a great effort." Cain was glad the prince didn't ask about the veteran knights under his command. Otherwise, he would have had to say, "Sir Luke is shiftless and lax in his duties, and Dame Cecil and Sir Rody are conducting a love affair."

Prince Marth did not question him further, though he seemed to study Cain for a moment longer than was necessary, as though he sensed Cain was holding information back. The moment passed, and the prince went to the next item on his agenda.

"Very good. Let's hear the report from Grust, then."

All heads turned then to the figure of Sir Draug, partially transparent and glowing blue, at the far end of the table. Draug cleared his throat and began his report, his voice coming through clearly for all that his body was located hundreds of miles away. Archsage Gotoh, in his newfound gratitude to humans, had introduced to them all manner of sophisticated magic, including this means of "remote communication." It made things more convenient that Prince Marth might speak face-to-face with his general in Occupied Grust, but to Cain, the effect was that of chatting to a summoned spirit at some dark ritual. Draug was very much alive, though, and even offered a smile to small Prince Yubello, who smiled back in apparent gratitude to the man who was watching his kingdom.

"Excellent, Draug. Please continue your good efforts there. We appreciate it very much."

Cain slipped back into a half-attentive state, one eye on his prince and the other on the spider; the latter had managed to construct a delicate framework for its web. Cain broke off his appreciation for the tiny creature's persistence when he heard the the meeting adjourned.

"Dismissed, gentlemen."

During the war, Prince Marth consistently referred to those who served him as "friends," whether he spoke to royal allies or common foot-soldiers. Now, the illusion of friendship was something the ruler of Altea could no longer afford; all of them- Cain and Draug, Melchor and even venerable old Jagen- were servants of their prince, and this time none of them would be allowed to forget it. It was only appropriate, and while Cain regretted the reason behind the change- and, perhaps, always would- he understood, and approved.

Once dismissed, Cain went back to his post, a small office at the front of the barracks of the Temple Knights. There, a mound of paperwork waited for him, as did one of his errant subordinates.

"Captain, the curates of Altea Town and Javea Town have submitted lists of likely candidates for service, and if you wish it I can go over them with you now. I have taken the liberty of looking into the background of these candidates."

On the battlefield, Cecil was as brave and fierce as any man. Now the fighting was ended, she showed an aptitude for tedious paperwork that made her a natural candidate for Cain's eventual successor as Knight Captain. It was a pity, then, that she had to compromise herself with young Rody at every opportunity. It was also a pity that Cain hadn't yet bothered to steer his junior knight back to the path of virtue.

Up to a point, Cain agreed to turn a blind eye to the disorder in the barracks. The loss of Captain Arran had been difficult; while the the late captain had been a cool and distant man, it demoralized the squad to watch their leader fade to a skeletal shadow of himself. The younger knights may have mocked Arran behind his back for his old-fashioned manners, but his protracted struggle with death had shaken them all to their cores. Then again, after the high-stakes excitement of battle, it was a letdown to come back to one's ravaged homeland. Cain was all too familiar with the drudgery that always followed the euphoria of a victory, but the younger knights were still in the process of being disillusioned. Cecil and Rody buried themselves in their work during daylight and in one another after curfew, while Luke appeared to have lost all interest in anything except tilting at a practice dummy.

"Very good, Cecil. I would like to hear what you've uncovered for us."

As Cain settled down to hear Cecil's reports on the merits of a dozen boys and girls from the western villages- the eldest of these being nine years of age, and the youngest only six- he chided himself that he must learn from Cecil's dedication to the small details of assembling a new generation of knights. And, in turn, he must set Cecil and Rody both a strong example about professional behavior. The map on the wall, with Altea and its smaller sister-state Gra colored in azure, served as a reminder of everything at stake, of everything he had to defend with his handful of men.

Three weeks later, with Cecil's devoted assistance, Cain had a final list of eight new pages approved to enter Prince Marth's household. It would have been a happy day for Cain, had Sir Luke not decided to sour things by announcing his "early retirement" from the Temple Knights.

"You don't retire. You swore a term of twenty years' service. If you pack your bags and head home as you claim to intend, your _retirement_ will consist of your head rotting above the keep."

"Knights have retired before. I've seen it done."

"That was a special exemption for a-" Cain knew exactly whom Luke had taken for a role model, and the very thought made his face grow warm with anger. "That was a one-time case and will not happen again. Ever."

If Luke's attitude ruffled Cain's feathers, Prince Marth's reaction made Cain even less happy.

"Oh, let him go. You've said he was setting a terrible example for the pages and squires."

"He gives them a worse example to model if you let him go peacefully, sire. How are they to approach service if they see a knight slip from his vows so easily?"

"Sir Luke is being sent home because the terrible ordeals he endured in the Dragon's Dale have crippled his psyche and left him unable to fight. And if anyone else wants to be sent home with even a quarter of their pension, they'd best be prepared to face down an Earth Dragon first."

Cain wasn't bothered by the prince's hyperbole; with the Shield of Seals intact, there should be no Earth Dragons in the Dale or anywhere else on the continent. He was bothered more than a little by Marth's direction that he, Knight Captain Cain, tell the trainees a truth so skewed it was indistinguishable from a convenient lie. Absolute fidelity to the truth was a liability in a ruler- even the prince's saintly sister Princess Elice was known to shave the truth- but it was a core value of the Temple Knights, and Cain knew the official story on Sir Luke's "retirement" would gall him as he told it.

Cain waited for his dismissal, but it turned out that the prince had something else in mind for him that day.

"What service do you ask of me, Your Highness?"

"I would like you to travel to Macedon in my stead. Princess Minerva claims she has an urgent matter to discuss with me, but..." The prince glanced away from Cain for a moment, then brushed a strand of long hair out of his eyes. "I cannot leave Altea. Not now, not again."

"Why doesn't Minerva use the communication crystals?" Cain's tongue still stumbled over the strange combination of words.

"She does not trust them. She says the issue is for my ears alone." A sudden smile tugged at the corners of the prince's mouth, though his eyes showed no levity. "And so I'll send you- to listen as my ears, to speak as my voice."

"It would be an honor, sire." A thundering great honor. He packed his bags and left Cecil in charge of the knights- after telling the trainees the required excuse about Sir Luke. For some reason, the lie didn't bother Cain as much as he expected it to.

-x-

Cain had not actually been to Macedon in several years; he'd missed that phase of the most recent war, if surviving the fall of Altea counted as "missing out" on anything. It was as he remembered- a scarred land of tall trees and taller mountains, languishing beneath a merciless sun. It wasn't quite the "Land of Sorrow," as Gra held that title, nor was it as ill-favored a nation as Grust, but Macedon was no happy place. Altea, in spite of the damages sustained in war, was a garden by comparison. And at the center of this unhappy land was a rather unhappy princess.

The Red Dragon Knight that Cain knew from wartime was a changed woman, lank of hair and pale of face. Cain's first impression on seeing Minerva was not of a ruler, but of a cloistered sister, a recluse from the world. By the end of their interview, that comparison haunted him. He emerged from the council room blinking like a mouse dragged from its burrow and wondering if the world was about to crumble around them all again. In this preoccupied state, Cain very nearly passed by the new commander of the Whitewinged Order of Macedon without so much as acknowledging her.

"My congratulations on your appointment, Commander."

"Thank you, Cain. It is a great role that I must live up to."

"I am certain you will make the position your own, Palla. Many of us find ourselves now in positions we never expected to fill- at least, not as soon as this." Cain had never expected to be Knight Captain at the age of twenty-five. Palla had definitely never expected to find herself in an office once reserved for members of the royal house of Macedon. And Prince Marth was most assuredly not expecting the news Cain would bring home to him.

Cain shoved the paralyzing thought to the margins of his mind and concentrated instead on Palla. She was as he remembered: beautiful and solemn, with only a trace of a wistful smile. Her eyes were clear, her shoulders straight, her low voice steady... no frail flower she, but a warrior carved out of Macedonian marble. Other women- other knights- might have shattered under the griefs that Palla suffered in the last war, but when others might ask for pity, Palla asked only for the strength to better serve her land. Something stirred within Cain that was far, far from pity. A question floated to the top of his mind, to the tip of his tongue, but self-restraint was his governor, and so he did not ask her.

"How is Catria faring these days?" he asked instead.

"She is working with a squadron of pegasus knights in the north of Macedon, building fortifications at the borders of Dolhr. Most knights would do anything to avoid the assignment, but Catria finds it an honor." Palla smiled that lovely sad smile; the mention of her younger sister- either one of them- always seemed to bring out that particular smile. Cain took that memory with him all the way back to Altea.

-x-

Cain hated warp magic. One day, he suspected, the components of his body would simply not reappear where they were needed. He still felt somehow incomplete when he settled down opposite Prince Marth for his debriefing.

"Relieve my curiosity, please. What new dilemma is Minerva facing?"

"Minerva is abandoning the throne of Macedon. She wishes to... take vows, and live out her days in service as a sister in the Macedonian order. She places the future of her kingdom in your hands, as you reign with the favor of heaven."

Silence. Any other man would have let fly a burst of profanity under the circumstances, but Marth absorbed the news without even changing expression. There was only a flicker of some involuntary motion in his eye.

"And Princess Maria?"

"Maria is devoted to her studies and her service to the gods." That, at least, was no new development.

"That is hardly a bar to being queen; Empress Nyna has managed to balance her religious studies with her duties of state, and she is not the first to do so."

Cain, through sheer discipline, managed not to curl his lip in scorn at the mention of "duty" so paired with "Empress Nyna."

"The princess Maria would accept the throne of Macedon on one condition," he said, and was pleased that only the faintest tinge of sarcasm leaked into his voice.

"That she be allowed to finish her studies? Of course." A flash of hope appeared in the prince's eyes. "She can continue to study with Bishop Lena, or Elice would be happy to assist her."

"She would take the throne not as the reigning queen but as... as your consort, sire."

The pleasantly earnest expression on the prince's face vanished; the hopeful look in his eyes turned to something unreadable.

"I'm afraid that will not be possible."

"The princess acknowledged that it was unlikely you would accept her offer. She said she was compelled to make it nonetheless, and she has nothing else to add to the matter."

Tense silence reigned briefly. Cain watched as Marth pretended to examine a frayed bit of trim on his tunic.

"Macedon is a _difficult _country," he said in the end.

"Both princesses said they would pray for you, sire."

Marth gave up picking at the white piping on his tunic and instead began to toy with the ring he wore on the smallest finger of his right hand. Cain remembered the day the ring, once worn by Marth's mother Queen Liza, had been found in a cesspit on the castle grounds.

"Do you remember, Cain, my reaction to Minerva when we first encountered her at Leifcandith Valley?"

"No, sire."

"She reminded me strongly of Elice. There was an air of tragedy about her- and of strength and dignity, to be sure, but I felt that this was a woman with deep pain and turmoil in her soul. Perhaps that turmoil will finally be eased."

"Your Highness is a consistently good judge of character." Not a _flawless_ judge of character- Cain wasn't about to pretend that the prince didn't have a number of mistakes on his hands. But Marth's overall record wasn't bad, considering some of the risks he'd taken in trusting people. Then again, Marth's trusted allies had their own record of thrusting their own responsibilities on the prince in this very manner. Sheema of Gra, and now Princess Minerva... Cain would think their female natures to blame, had the men among Marth's allies not served him even worse.

Still, as he thought over his interview with the prince later that evening, Cain could not shake off the impression that Marth was not, in fact, entirely surprised by the revelations.

_To Be Continued_

_

* * *

_

Author's Note: Here we go with another of the "Tales of the Unified Kingdom," though this one, set right after the War of Heroes ends (right after FE3), shouldn't need prior knowledge of any of the other stories. The Unified Kingdom doesn't exist yet when this starts. I am taking the ending to FE3 with a grain of salt- if Minerva, Sheema, and everyone else abdicates their positions as soon as Medeus is defeated, the result will be absolute chaos, so this is my attempt to get some reason and order out of the ending. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got so long I broke it into four parts.

Title is a reference to "Another Piece of Red" by the Boomtown Rats. Make of that what you will...


	2. Autumn

**Another Piece of Blue**

Warnings: Spoilers for FE3, some adult language and references to adult situations. Again.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon_, _Fire Emblem: Monshou no Nazo_, or any of the characters therein.

* * *

_Chapter Two_

The fact that Marth would be shortly assuming leadership of Macedon was not mentioned at the next morning's council meeting. Instead, a great deal of chatter was dedicated to the welfare of the princess Elice. Specifically, the chatter involved that fair lady's marital status. Apparently there were some in the world who might possibly be displeased by the idea of the princess, their blessed vessel of divine power, being wed to a mere Altean noble and mage.

If young Merric had been appointed to some high office in Khadein, if he were announced as Pontifex Wendell's successor, the union might be acceptable, but-

"I will determine what is and is not acceptable," Marth snapped. "There's been quite enough of princesses forced into 'suitable' marriages against their own inclination."

Cain, Draug, and Jagen knew that the issue ought to end there. But the men who had served Marth's father in an era that now seemed very long ago still did not know the Prince of Altea well enough. They looked at Marth, saw a child half their age, and kept pushing.

"Elice sacrificed her freedom, and offered her very life, not once but twice on my behalf. I cannot give her back the days lost to Gharnef; I can only grant her a future governed by her own desires, and not hindered by mine." Marth then arched one brow in a gesture that anyone with any sense should have known to be a warning sign. "Besides, what 'suitable candidates' are even left?"

The King of Talys was happily wed. The King of Aurelis was a frail old man, unsuited for matrimony. The Crown Prince of Grust was all of fourteen. The only other prince of royal blood left standing was Elice's own brother.

"Your arguments are sound, sire," Cain said, to forestall anyone else seeking to take this issue, and the prince's temper, over the line. Whenever a mention of Elice's captivity under the sorceror Gharnef came up, it was time for a subject to drop. Once, when a doddering old bishop asked if Elice had come through the ordeal with her maidenhood intact, Marth had responded by throwing everyone out of the council chamber.

-x-

Cain had a new map of Archanea drawn up to mark the latest political twist. On it, the kingdom of Macedon was, like Altea and its satellite Gra, colored azure. In the middle of Marth's three kingdoms sat the occupied land of Dolhr, in bands of alternating azure and white. Also barred in azure was the western land of Occupied Grust. The entire southwestern quadrant of Archanea thus lay effectively under one man's control; in spite of his misgivings about the Macedonian business, Cain found his new map a curiously satisfying sight.

Another spectral figure now appeared each week in the council chamber- Palla, who had not yet settled into her role as Whitewing Commander when she found herself entrusted with the whole of her nation.

"Tell the Macedonians on my behalf that I have no plans to change the fabric of their land. I will not seek to end their ancient customs or uproot their institutions. Except for the army," the prince said to his newest viceroy. "The army must be reformed."

Cain knew by now that the army of Macedon _was_ its culture. Minerva's reign had foundered on that precise issue, and Marth was well aware of it. But Palla agreed to take the prince's reassurances back to the Macedonian citizens, and the meeting ended with the comfortable fiction that the Macedonian takeover would be as smooth as the absorption of Gra into Altea. But Gra and Altea had been as one nation only three generations before; a peasant from the western tip of Altea might speak to his counterpart from eastern Gra and be understood without much trouble. The Macedonians wrote out their language in strange characters, and that was only the start of their differences.

The prince changed his mind about allowing the Macedonians to maintain their own laws once he learned the content of said laws.

"Impossible. I knew such barbaric practices were an old folk custom, but to have them sanctioned..."

If Palla's face were not tinted blue by Gotoh's magic, Cain was certain he would have seen the commander blush in shame. Poor Palla could mount only an inarticulate defense of her land's barbaric customs.

"It is said that the great King Iote was found in the woods by a she-wolf..."

"Palla. Wolves do not raise human children."

Cain had to admire Palla for keeping her head high and her voice steady in light of Prince Marth's frank disgust with her motherland and its practices.

"Most children are not actually _abandoned_, Your Highness."

"Palla, did Bishop Lena not recently found a sizable orphanage in Macedon?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Is it the only orphanage in Macedon?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Then we shall hear no more of children being raised by wolves. It ends now, Palla, and your knights will enforce it."

So ended the ages-old tradition of infant exposure in Macedon. Cain knew that the number of declared orphans in Macedon would swell now that parents could not longer leave sickly infants to fate, and that Lena's charitable efforts would be taxed even more as a consequence. Marth's stern expression as he ended communication to Macedon indicated the prince knew it also.

"Macedon can never be integrated into our society unless these _traditions_ are swept away."

"Yes, sire."

Marth sounded almost defiant at the close of that conversation, as though he knew he was near to overturning a few too many stalls in the marketplace. Cain went back to the barracks feeling gratified that he had mundane matters like the eight new pages to distract him from his misgivings about the entire Macedonian affair. Jagen dropped by, and Cain enjoyed an open discussion about the merits of the various pages and squires; by the end of the conversation, he felt he saw genuine pride in the seamed face of the man whose squire Cain once had been.

"Well, we've made progress in getting back on our feet since the Mad Emperor's War."

All Cain's respect for his mentor couldn't prevent him from scowling at the name given the latest bloody conflict. One Great War and one Reconquest of Altea were easy to categorize, but two great wars and two reconquests led to no end of misunderstanding- especially when friends became enemies. But boiling the conflict down to the whims of one madman seemed as tasteless as it did wrong.

"Hardin's War," Jagen amended, a term that was no better.

"I find it unjust to blame a man who was not in command of himself when he ordered those atrocities."

"Was he?"

"I don't grasp your meaning, sir."

"Did the influence of the Darksphere truly fill Hardin's head with thoughts and feelings not his own, or did it only cause him to leave aside a civil mask, as drink may loosen a man's tongue and let forth a tide of foolishness?"

"I cannot say truly, sir," Cain replied. "I would think the Darksphere would be more potent than any ordinary wine."

"Drop a ruby into a vat of acid, boy, and it emerges whole and sparkling. A piece of red glass backed in foil will shine as brilliantly as any ruby, but let it pickle for an hour and it comes out a ruin."

"You're deep in your metaphors today, sir." Cain lapsed into silence; he felt the scrutiny of Jagen's faded eyes. Looking into those eyes, he noticed, as though for the first time, their true color- a ring of muddy brown set within a ring of bluish-gray. It seemed remarkable, and almost shameful, that he'd not noticed such a detail before. "I also find it unfair to lay the blame upon Hardin when clearly the Dark Pontifex arranged the main set-pieces of this conflict. To say nothing of Medeus."

"Ah, but we _will_ say nothing of Medeus."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand that, either." For the official story was that they had all gone down to the Dragon's Altar to finish off Pontifex Gharnef and to seal away the Earth Dragons. The resurrection of the dragonlord Medeus and his defeat by Prince Marth and the young manakete Tiki were forbidden topics of discussion. Cain could understand that certain details of the incident would be held back- it would _not_ do to let the people of Altea know the princess Elice had nearly been used as a live sacrifice to the dragonlord- but he did not sympathize with Prince Marth's reluctance to mention Medeus at all.

If Jagen had answers for Cain, he did not yield them.

"You were speaking of the time elapsed since Hardin's War, sir?"

-x-

Empress Nyna summoned Marth to her court at Pales in the midst of the Macedonian transition; it should be an informal visit, the empress said, with no need for a large retinue. Even so, it was a blasted inconvenience. They could not warp into Pales the way Lord Gotoh enabled them to warp directly to the episcopal palace in Macedon, so the prince was obliged to waste many days in transit, either over land or by sea. Marth opted for the land route, as it enabled two warp shortcuts that would halve the length of the journey. To Cain's surprise, he was chosen to escort the prince to the capital.

"Jagen really is getting on in years- and he admits it freely, which worries me all the more," Marth said. "The Dragon's Altar was, perhaps, one exploit too many."

Cain only nodded as he remembered the terrible stresses of the potent magic that lingered in the Dragon's Altar- magic that made the air turn thick as water, made the human body as immobile as ice or stone. His own body hadn't felt quite right for many days afterward, and he could only guess as to its effects on the older man. But if Jagen was forced to step back, Cain would indeed be honored to take his place at Marth's side. They set out accompanied only by a squire selected by Cecil for the occasion. Ruth had curiously lavender-tinged eyes and a tendency to be stone-faced when carrying out her duties, and Cain suspected the girl had Aurelian heritage, but he could rely on her to be competent and discreet. Indeed, Ruth lagged a suitable distance behind them and tended to the mule that carried their baggage, so the men had more privacy on the open road than could ever be found in Altea Castle. Cain therefore felt comfortable enough asking the prince a candid question.

"If I may ask, Your Highness, what is the nature of this interview?"

"Nyna was not forthcoming with the details." Marth's even response pricked Cain's curiosity; as with the Macedonian handover, he could not escape the feeling that Marth knew far more than he was letting on. That was, of course, the prince's own prerogative, but Cain could hardly advise him on any course of action if he didn't understand the circumstances!

"I pray she is not to be married again." He intended the sour words as a goad, but his sovereign's reaction seemed almost lighthearted.

"I don't believe this continent will see another imperial wedding in any of our lifetimes."

Yes, Cain decided, the prince was most definitely playing word-games with him. The innocent-sounding sentence carried a mysterious shade of meaning, and Cain _loathed_ mysteries.

"Excellent, sire. The lady is clearly not suited for marriage. Men _died_ because Her Imperial Highness could not bring herself to fulfill her duties as a wife."

That was, he realized at once, a goad too far. The prince's raised eyebrow didn't carry the same amount of censure he showed to Sir Melchor when the man said something stupid, but it was a signal nonetheless. Cain heard some excessive jangling behind them, as though Ruth were striving to pretend she'd not heard a breath of the exchange.

"Forgive my intemperance, sire. I should not have spoken as I did."

"It is fair to be harsh with a ruler who fails to rule." Cain took the pensive response to mean that Marth was not cross with him. "Nyna acted as she did, so much of the time, to spare the feelings of those she valued- even when her own heart was trampled upon. And yet, her good intentions always brought about exactly the wrong effect. It seems to me- and I've had this impression for some time, since well before her marriage to Hardin- that there is something essential in the duty of a ruler that Nyna simply does not understand. I cannot put words to it, but... well, there was the time in the _Reconquista_ when she suggested I send someone else out to address our people, that I'd been through too much that day and needed some time to myself. Unacceptable, of course, and I told her so."

"You are not angry with her." Cain did not intend it as a question.

"I pity her," Marth said. He appeared on the verge so saying more, but then merely shook his head. Cain attempted to close off the conversation on a less unpleasant note.

"I suppose that the events precipitated by her unfortunate marriage did, in a sense, allow us to destroy Medeus and his kind entirely."

Cain watched the prince carefully as he spoke so as to know when he might need to retract his words, and so he witnessed clearly the flash of revulsion across Marth's face and the way his grip tightened upon the reins.

"Not destroyed, Cain," he said, and there was something strange, something unplaceable, in his voice. "That's not why I was chosen."

Prince Marth kept their discussions on other matters entirely for the remainder of their journey that evening. At the close of day, the three riders found themselves at a dilapidated inn; Cain thought the accommodations were entirely beneath the dignity and comfort of his sovereign, but Marth overruled him and said the place was quite adequate, even though Ruth was forced to sleep in the stables. The meal the innkeeper prepared for them proved similarly wretched, though Cain supposed the tough stewed chicken represented a considerable sacrifice on the part of their hostess- another war-widow, as they learned. Her husband had died on "quite the wrong side of the conflict, Your Highness," and she was mortified about it, but the prince kept the conversation moving along nicely, and by the meal's end the innkeeper seemed charmed by him.

"You see the value in staying at such a place, Cain." That the "place" involved stained ceilings, moth-worn hangings, and chipped tableware went without saying.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Long after they'd put out the candles, Marth continued to talk, scattering ideas almost like an excitable child. It reminded Cain strongly of the early days in exile, when the prince, plagued by guilt and shame, each day proposed an improbable plan to crush Dolhr and reconquer Altea.

"Cain, what would you think of a smaller, less cumbersome ballista?"

"We have them, sire. They're called 'crossbows.'"

"Not that small. I was thinking of something that might be mounted on the deck of a ship."

"A ship?"

"A war ship. Imagine the advantage of having a Hoistflamme on deck. One ballista might be enough to set fire to an entire enemy fleet."

"I suppose it would, sire." Cain turned the idea over in his head a few times, for he could picture the scene clearly. Several moments' thought was all he needed to form an opinion of the utility of this scheme- or the total lack thereof. "It's a terrible idea. Some fool seaman could set his own ship alight."

He was weary from the journey and had been feeling out of sorts in any event, and this miserable inn hadn't improved his mood in the least, but Cain still regretted the asperity in his hasty words. A small mocking voice at the back of his mind told him that he, too, hadn't grown up all that much from the way he'd been in Talys- an indignant youth, smarting from his bruised pride and grieving his losses, who let his words fly like the arrows of a careless archer. But, from the other side of the bed came only reassuring laughter.

"Thank you, Cain."

"For what, sire?"

"I believe the saying goes, 'A virtuous wife is to be valued above all precious stones.' Well, let the same be said of an honest advisor."

"I am pleased to be of value to you, sire."

"Good night, Cain."

The affection in Marth's voice reminded Cain- as though he might ever forget- of why he'd followed the prince to hell and back so many times. Talys, the Samsooth Mountains, Pyrathi, Raman, Dolhr, Chiasmir Bridge, Thabes, the land of the Fire Dragons, the land of the Ice Dragons, Dolhr _again_...

The list of ridiculous places they'd survived formed a chant that lulled Cain into an surprisingly comfortable sleep. He awoke to rain-drips falling through a crack in the ceiling, and he and the prince shared a genuine laugh over it.

-x-

Cain must have known in his heart that Nyna was planning to abdicate. It was the only explanation he had for himself as to why he remained in his seat, held his tongue, and kept his hands neatly clasped while the empress delivered her incredible message. Otherwise, he might have strangled her.

"The woman is mad," he said once Nyna had taken leave of them. "The lineage of Archanea has been the one constant in this world for most of the millennium. After what happened in Gra, and in Macedon, is it not important to offer the people stability, to reassure them that the women- and men- the gods give to them as leaders will not abandon them on a whim?"

"Cain, you know as well as I the nature of this 'holy' line of kings. They came to power through theft and sacrilege, as they may as well fall out of it through the passions of a lovelorn princess."

"I see your argument, sire."

He wasn't sure what he found more disturbing- the new strain of cool cynicism in the prince's voice, or his own growing conviction that Prince Marth was beginning to enjoy the prospect of having great swathes of the continent under his own command.

They crossed the palace courtyard back to the apartments Nyna had assigned them- rooms for a high-ranking visitor. Cain hoped Marth would enjoy his stay in Pales as an honored guest, considering that it would be the last time he'd enjoy such. The surroundings suited Cain's bleak mood; above them, great clouds of starlings undulated against the overcast sky. Cain stared into the living black swirls and was assailed by a memory of dark magic under the merciless sun of Khadein, of flying things neither living nor dead slashing at his face and clinging to his armor.

"They're beautiful."

"I wouldn't go that far, sire." Cain thought of them as vermin on the wing, and this sight wasn't changing his mind any.

"I always have had a fondness for birds. Even the unloved ones. They all have their place."

The prince stretched one hand out to the sky, as though he could coax down one of the shrieking plummeting things and make a pet of it. Though half a continent and more was now in his grasp, the starlings paid him no heed.

_To Be Continued_

_

* * *

_

Author's Note: Yes, Cain is being something of a jerk about Nyna... though I do believe that the games do make it clear that Nyna is a flawed and inadequate ruler, and her inability to put her own feelings aside and deal with her arranged marriage is symptomatic of her shortcomings. As is the scene with Marth in Ch 17 of _Shadow Dragon_ (which I reference here).


	3. Winter

**Another Piece of Blue**

Warnings: Spoilers for FE3, some adult language and references to adult situations. Again.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon_, _Fire Emblem: Monshou no Nazo_, or any of the characters therein.

* * *

_Chapter Three_

Out came the blue pencil, shading in the two peninsulas of the former Holy Kingdom. The main peninsula curved to the southeast, toward the Pyrathi Ocean, while above it the Leifcandith peninsula blocked off the southern coastline of Galder Ocean. That was most of the lower-right quadrant of the map, taken in one piece. The free ports of Warren and Galder would follow the Holy Kingdom, whether they wanted to or not, and once Prince Marth and Princess Caeda were finally wed, the isle of Talys would turn azure as well.

That was close to half the world as Cain knew it. Seafarers spoke of distant lands, a great continent to the northwest, and another land to the far south, but the only other land truly known to Archaneans was the small island nation of Valencia, which seemed a fraction of Archanea's size. Cain's sovereign thus could fairly be called the most powerful man now living- assuming he held on to it all.

Liberation Day saw frost on the ground. Cain went to the Temple early that morning, to say his prayers in private before the main service. For two years, Liberation Day had been a grand and merry holiday, a time of jubilation that Prince Marth and his knights had, against overwhelming odds, beaten back the Dolhr-Grust alliance and saved Altea from the oppressive rule of the dragonkin. The third anniversary found Cain, his prince, and their remaining comrades on the march yet again, this time against the occupation and oppression of Emperor Hardin and his mercenary forces. This fourth anniversary thus was less a day of unrestrained celebration as it was a time to reflect upon absent comrades- both those who never lived to see the _Reconquista_ in 604, and those who had _been_ present in 604, but were not present now.

Cain spent some time at the tomb of Captain Arran; his predecessor had not been a perfect knight, but he was a good man and a brave one, and one who sought to lead the Temple Knights toward victory even as mortal corruption overtook his body. Cain, though, was not truly thinking of Arran's loss; another loss entirely, another comrade who should have been with him in this age of transformation, weighed heavily upon him. Prayers for peace, for understanding, did not ease him any, for this grief and anger proved a poison that seeped backwards in time and tainted fond memories. Liberation Day was no day of jubilee now, because 604 led inexorably to 607, and 607 had torn them all asunder. There was no moment in Cain's supposedly grand career that wasn't stained by this absence- not his time as a page or a squire, not the Great Exile in Talys, not the Reconquest or the illusive peace that followed it, and especially not the moment when, poised to retake Altea for the second time, they discovered-

The sound of footsteps on the stone behind him snapped Cain out of his own thoughts.

"Gordin?"

He immediately felt foolish; though it wasn't impossible that Gordin had come in from Pales for the holiday, the slim young man with a fringe of hair down in his eyes was clearly Gordin's younger brother Ryan. If Cain hadn't been so immersed in memory, he'd not have made that mistake.

"It's Ryan, sir," said the young archer, almost in apology, as though it were his own fault he looked so much like his brother. He had a wreath of yellow chrysanthemum in his hands. "I came to visit Captain Arran."

Cain gladly relinquished his place at the tomb; after Ryan had paid his respects to the late Captain, the two men took a walk through the cavernous Temple. It was quiet at this hour, with only a few pilgrims and the temple attendants to disturb the eerie stillness of marble and granite.

"Have you any word from your brother?"

"He sent a letter in last week. He wanted very much to be here today, but there is so much going on in Pales that he felt he needed to stay and make sure that everyone was safe." It sounded as though Gordin had, upon leaving Altea, joined up with assorted other war veterans in an _ad hoc _peacekeeping force. Cain supposed that in the wake of Nyna's abdication Gordin had his hands full.

They spoke in lowered voices for some time, in a fractured conversation that spilled from topic to topic. By the time they stood before the grand mosaic of St. Anri locked in combat with Medeus, the discussion had veered to the morbid.

"There are some sins that can only be redeemed through death," Cain said as he stared at the tiny bits of polished stone that formed an image of the Falchion sword.

"Like Emperor Hardin?"

"Close enough." That was as far as Cain wished to take this particular conversation. "Don't get married, Ryan. It seems the pains and pleasures of marriage are fatal distraction to a knight."

He meant it as a jest, but the words came out wrong, and Ryan only stared at him in confusion.

"Wasn't old Jagen married once?"

"For a time," Cain admitted. "To a damsel he rescued from distress back in his adventuring days. She died of fever three or four years into the marriage, if I recall."

After such an awkward end to the conversation, Cain was relieved to have a holiday- drunken revelers and all- to occupy his mind.

On the heels of Liberation Day came a royal wedding, that of Princess Elice to her beloved wind mage. Whatever the feelings of Altean nobility on the union, the people of Altea blessed the marriage with their enthusiasm; Cain and his men had a time of it keeping the love of the people from overwhelming the wedding party. Once the princess and her bridegroom were packed off to their new home in Pales, Knight Captain Cain was able to delve into some long-overdue housekeeping matters. Having derived, with inadvertent help from his prince, a means of dealing with the Rody-and-Cecil problem, he called the pair into his office for some good news. Cain informed them that Rody was being sent to Gra as part of a joint peacekeeping mission with a squadron of Macedonian knights, while Cecil was to be officially promoted to second-in-command of the Altean knights at the first of the year.

They bore the news like the dutiful knights Cain knew them to be when not distracted; he could honestly say he was proud of them.

-x-

"Cecil, what is a _zombie_?"

"I don't know, sir." Cecil ran a finger underneath her headband as though giving her brain some room to expand might jog her memory. "Use it in a sentence."

"The people here are so starved and ragged they resemble _zombies_ rather than men." Catria's words; his old companion-at-arms led the Macedonian squadron of the peacekeeping mission. While her descriptions of the miseries of Gra were succinct and telling, she did use words Cain flat-out didn't understand.

"Is it the Macedonian word for a scarecrow?" His assistant furrowed her brow; Cain knew how much it pained Cecil when she couldn't be helpful. "I'm sure His Highness would know the word."

"Perhaps, but it would hardly do to ask His Highness to define the very terms used in this report I'm to present him with." Cain read the sentence over again and decided a scarecrow was a fair guess at Catria's meaning. "I'll ask Draug; his head is a compendium of odd trivia."

Cain's report- compiled from information gathered by both Catria and Rody- fell as a sobering blow in the midst of the holiday season. The prince had invested himself personally in the fate of Gra; he had promised the people that they and the Alteans would be as one family, and the descriptions of emaciated peasants eating mud-pies and gnawing on sticks spurred him to go west to see the plight of his people with his own eyes.

"I may be gone overnight, or I may be gone for a month," he said to Cain. "I leave Altea in your hands; you've done the job before, and this time there should be no surprises of the magnitude you encountered the last time."

"No, sire, I don't believe there are any large standing armies to descend upon us this season." He would rather have accompanied Marth into Gra, truth be told, but instead Cain escorted his prince to the narrow bridge that connected the two realms. Cain thought he could make out Rody standing among the pegasus knights on the opposite shore. He wished his sovereign luck and stood fast until Marth safely reached land on the Gra side. As Cain turned eastward, though, everything before him felt vividly unfamiliar, as though the knowledge that this land was in _his_ care altered his senses.

Cain could only pray that this spell as caretaker of Altea went better than had the last. In his head, he heard an echo mocking his appointment.

"So the favored apprentice is left minding the shop counter! Take care, Master Cain- the gold disappears from the kitty more easily than you'd ever expect."

-x-

The absence of both Marth and Elice left Altea Castle as a household with no head, which made it an awkward festival season. Princess Caeda, though beloved by the Altean people, was neither wife nor queen, and so was a mere guest in the prince's household- albeit one of the highest standing- and not the lady of the castle. Cain found he wore the stewardship of Altea less comfortably without Elice at his shoulder; the princess had an instinct for managing her people, and Cain had cloaked his own decisions with her mantle of royal authority whenever possible. This time, he had no choice but to speak for himself, confer with Caeda or Jagen when necessary, and pray that Marth backed all his actions upon the prince's return. Fortunately he was faced with no grave crisis as Marth's absence stretched from days into a fortnight; the greatest inconvenience was the masked ball planned for the final eve of the winter holiday.

Cain circulated through the ballroom, wishing he could be outside with young Ryan, defending the keep against imagined intruders. Masked balls gave people such incentive for foolishness, as though height and build, hair-coloring and voice alike all changed once the face was covered. Cain and one other in the room showed their faces; Princess Caeda sat upon a ceremonial chair as the queen of the festival, with a gown the hue of ripened pomegranates and a garland on her sleek head.

The gown made an elegant demonstration of the lengths to which the Princess of Talys had gone to meet the expectations of a mainland court. No longer did the princess run about in her riding-skirt and armor, nor did she bring a sword to the banquet table. With Elice set before her as a sterling example, Caeda had fashioned herself into the kind of princess the Alteans most loved- model of spiritual and moral authority, not a warrior girl. Even so, the daughter of Talys had a gleam in her eye as Cain passed near the dais on his circuit through the ballroom.

"Would you dance with me, Cain? Just once?"

"It is not permitted, my lady." Indeed, after months of poring over the Altean lawbooks, Cain knew well the severity of taking such a liberty with the affianced bride of his sovereign and the penalty that he would technically deserve. While Cain was certain that Marth would never apply said penalty, he did not relish the idea of pleading before his sovereign to keep his manhood intact.

"It would be in Talys." Her lips curved like an archer's bow, and Cain saw the beginnings of a dimple in her cheek. "If Prince Marth can trust you with all of Altea, surely you can be trusted to lead me but once around the dance floor."

"This is not Talys, my lady. In these days, no man can be above suspicion."

The princess sat the rest of the evening like a waxen doll on her makeshift throne. Marth arrived late in the afternoon the following day, after the drunken nobles and other refuse had all been carted away. The prince looked as though he'd not slept that previous night, nor for several nights prior to it. Cain remembered the words of Catria's report: "One week in this place is enough to make a man both heart-sick and sick to his stomach." Two weeks, then, was enough to age a man by five years.

"I trust no armies of any Dark Emperors invaded while I was away?" said the prince in place of any proper greeting.

"The castle remains secure, sire."

Marth lifted one corner of his mouth in an unconvincing smile, but his next statement held no levity at all.

"That Altea could be so fertile, and its sister-land so barren, seems like malice on the part of the gods."

Cain could not help but stare. For the Chosen of Heaven to criticize the will of the gods, even by implication, bordered on high blasphemy. Cain caught himself, then looked around swiftly to make certain no others were in earshot.

"I'm sure Your Highness has much to say, but this courtyard might not be the place to say it."

"I need to sleep, Cain." Marth's blurred diction made this evident fact still more evident. "We'll meet tonight, and I'll hear your account of what I've missed in Altea. Then we'll get to the real business of how I spent these last few weeks."

They met in Marth's own apartments rather than the council chamber; Cain had been there many times before, but never as a guest. He'd never been offered saffron biscuits and ice wine before, and Cain took it all as a signal to speak freely. Fortunately, he had little to share that was in any way painful, though the indiscretions of various nobles during the holiday season were certainly obnoxious to recall.

"Princess Caeda presided over the revels with perfect grace and decorum, Your Highness," Cain concluded.

Marth did not smile as he usually did when his fiancee was praised.

"Jagen said she reminded him of a parakeet with her wings clipped."

-x-

Lord Merric flitted back into Altea after a presumably happy first month of marriage, a febrile look in his eyes. He was, as Cain feared, overflowing with schemes and nonsense, but at least that nonsense gave the prince the kind of release from care he'd been denied over the holidays. Since Merric believed all his schemes to be important state business, Cain and Cecil both were kept from their duties to hear the various ideas, including plans for some sort of warp-transit system that would allow a traveler to pass from temple to temple throughout Archanea, reducing a journey of many days' time to a matter of minutes.

"Where will you find enough clerics to staff these temples?" Marth asked his brother-in-law. "Warp magic is hardly a standard part of clerical training."

"We're going to change that," Merric announced. "Elice and I- primarily Elice, of course- will make it a standard course in our Academy in Pales. We've found the perfect location for it, Marth- you remember Bishop Volzhin's place? With a thorough cleaning and exorcism, it would be ideal. I've talked with Linde, and she signed on to the plan as well. Magical education in Archanea will be transformed within a generation."

"Ah. So, you're hardly looking for this system to be implemented in a few months' time."

"Oh, it'll take about fifteen years to train the needed curates and clerics and modify the temples accordingly. Well, Elice did say it might take twenty. But-"

Cain had only the most basic training in magical theory, and so the substance of Merric's plans was foreign and incomprehensible to him. He gave Merric's words only half his attention and spent the other half measuring his sovereign's reaction. Cain noticed, then, how Marth's frankly skeptical expression first softened, then turned to keen interest. It was the same process he'd seen innumerable times in councils-of-war, as high strategic concepts were broken down to their elements and transformed into a functional battle plan.

"This is the most exciting age for magical breakthroughs in many a century," said the Sage of Winds, his flushed face solid evidence that he, at least, was excited beyond measure at the opportunities.

"I think he sees visions after smoking that horrid pipe of his," said Cecil of Lord Merric and his enthusiasm.

"Lord Merric sets the mind of His Highness at ease, which is something the rest of us can't manage these days."

Of course it galled him that he couldn't bring the prince to smile by babbling on about "perpetual energies" or a grand plan for magical education. But that was, after all, the difference between a kinsman and a servant. Lord Merric could occupy an undue amount of Marth's time on the grounds that Marth found it pleasing, while Cain and Cecil had to carry out their duties regardless of how much pleasure anyone got out of it.

While Lord Merric's vision for "magical transit" stayed, for the time being, on a drawing-pad, a vision for the future of the Unified Kingdom of Archanea, Altea, and Macedon began to emerge as old laws were stripped from the codices and new laws added. It was now illegal to confine or take by force a woman of noble blood for the purpose of using her in a dark ritual. It was also illegal to sacrifice humans to the dragonkin. That it took six centuries and more to formally condemn these practices seemed a great oversight, but the legal codes of the various realms all seemed to be composed of trivia and contradiction, with great holes through which all manner of mischief might be done without crossing any laws. A nobleman of Gra might take a woman by force, provided he made compensation in either gold or livestock to her male relatives. An ancient by-law of Grust that required any nobleman who removed a cleric from her shrine or village to make the maiden his wife seemed innocuous by comparison, but it vanished from the books as well. Cain noted that Marth's priorities appeared, in part, to be alterations to laws that annoyed him personally as well as corrections of age-old injustice.

Of course, the prince was hardly the only party with an interest in changing the law. Linde made quite the nuisance of herself, as the Sage of Light wanted to ban "consorting with the powers of darkness" entirely.

"I could send Linde to Gotoh's temple and have her tell the Archsage that she's confiscating his Swarm tome. It seems to be a preferred tome of sorcerers, so that makes it dark magic. What of Bolganone and Thoron- favorites of some of our most beloved bishops? Terrible spells, both of them."

"It does seem an arbitrary distinction, sire."

"We might as well ban all tomes besides Aura, Rizziah, and Starlight. It's the deed committed through magic, not the incantation itself, that should matter to the law."

"Your reasoning is sound, sire."

"_Imhullu_ is banned," said Marth as he continued to pace a track in the carpet of the council chamber. "Of course, Imhullu has always been forbidden, not that it stopped Gharnef."

And so the headstrong sage was not dispatched to Lord Gotoh to confiscate anything; Linde instead went back to Pales with the stern message that she should not be over-zealous in the service of light.

-x-

Matters closer to home- and rather less philosophical- continued to bubble up like frogs in pond muck.

"We've had to discipline two of the squires for improper conduct, Your Highness."

"What sort of conduct?"

Cain glanced at Cecil; his second-in-command now oversaw the trainees on a daily basis, and so she insisted on presenting the report on their misbehavior.

"An improper degree of fraternization, Your Highness."

"Ah." The prince had a strangely distant look in his eyes- not distracted or inattentive, but _detached_ in some way. "It would seem to be a never-ending problem. Which of the girls was involved?"

"Both are boys, Your Highness." Cecil pressed her lips together in a grim line.

"Well, it's not entirely unheard of." If the prince were taken aback by the news, his dismay was so subtle that Cain couldn't even detect it. "Still, of course, not permissible amongst the trainees. I'll leave it to you to sort out the details."

And then it was on to other matters, like whether or not mass hallucinations in a Granese village stemmed from malicious magic or spoiled rye.

"That," said Cecil as they returned to the barracks, "was not the reaction I expected from His Highness."

"He has the greater share of the world to worry about. A pair of misbehaving squires isn't likely to trouble him for more than a few moments' thought."

"It wasn't that way before..." Cecil tugged at her headband as though it irritated her. "When I was a squire, His Highness would come by often and ask after me, to make sure the silly boys weren't bothering me. And when Rody and Luke had that ridiculous fight and weren't speaking to one another, he-"

She stopped short and adjusted her headband again, then untied the knot and yanked the white strip of cloth away entirely. Her hair spilled around her face like a curtain. Cain stared at the frayed edge of the headband, dangling between Cecil's fingers, as he waited for her to continue.

"It's not been a year since we came home, and so much is gone. Captain Arran, and Luke, and now even Rody's left. Gordin left for Pales, General Draug is in Grust, nobody even knows _where_ Sir Abel went..."

Cain felt a tight mass in his throat, almost like a ball of phlegm. It both pained him and kept him from speaking as Cecil continued her lament.

"And now His Highness can't spare a moment to learn the _names_ of 'a pair of misbehaving squires.' What have we come to?"

"The future," he replied. Cecil turned to face him; with her unbound hair and downturned mouth, she seemed a different woman entirely.

"The future," she echoed. "It's not what I expected, either."

-x-

Macedon was, as Marth said, an especially difficult country. With deepest apologies, the translucent image of the Whitewing Commander told the prince that his new subjects planned a protest against his rule.

"Your Highness, all Macedonian citizens are permitted the right of peaceful assembly in the public forum," Palla said as though it mitigated the offense.

"I know that, Commander. It is not a right the citizens have been able to exercise during the last two reigns." Palla bowed her head in acknowledgment of this sorry fact, though she glanced up again in concern when Marth asked her what, specifically, the Macedonians were protesting.

"Your Highness, the people understand that Princess Minerva does not want the throne, but it upsets them greatly that Princess Maria is being, as they see it, passed over in your favor. Maria is still very young and could be trained to be a good queen, they think, especially if she had someone to guide her and stand with her."

It was an argument that anyone of sense could have foreseen, but Marth seemed to hear something in Palla's words that Cain and the others did not.

"Come out with it, Palla," Marth said softly, as though this were some campfire chat on the battlefield. "What do they really want?"

"They say that if Your Highness wants Macedon so badly, you could at least legitimize your rule through a marriage to Princess Maria."

The suggestion was as well-received this time as it had been when Cain mentioned the idea months earlier. Marth took an uncharacteristically long time to make any response at all.

"Permit the demonstrations, Commander. Post a few unobtrusive guards to monitor the area, and send in a squadron of pegasus knights if the demonstrations turn violent. Avoid use of Dragoons if at all possible."

"As you Your Highness wishes."

When the emergency council ended, Marth did not dismiss them all in the usual fashion.

"Stay a moment, Jagen. You also, Cain."

Once all others had left the room, the prince bent forward in his chair, both hands clasped around his knees, shoulders tense and shaking. It was a position Cain remembered from days in exile, from the wars after a battle with too many casualties. For a moment, the most powerful man in Archanea seemed no older than little Maria of Macedon- or even Prince Yubello. Cain filed away in the back of his mind the way Yubello showed visible disappointment at the idea of Maria being married off for her crown; that was potentially interesting, but the problem in front of him was a good deal more pressing.

Before either of the knights could say anything, Marth straightened up, lifted a stubborn chin to them both, and began to speak in the dispassionate, analytical manner they could recognize as a defensive pose.

"A marriage to the princess Maria would would go some way toward pacifying the Macedonians, but it would not be taken well in Grust and would do nothing to ease complaints from the eastern territories."

"It would also strike an irreparable blow to your long-standing alliance with Talys, sire." Cain decided to play along for the sake of argument.

"Not irreparable, perhaps, but severe," agreed Marth. "And a fine way to reward Talys for its loyalty, too..."

"There is some precedent for taking more than one wife, Your Highness." Only Jagen would dare make a suggestion on that order.

"Ancient Thabes?"

"Yes."

"Ancient Thabes that crumbled under the weight of its own corruption when two branches of the family made war upon one another?"

"Correct, Your Highness. The war averted today does often erupt on the morrow."

"You're quite right, Jagen," said Marth, and Cain noticed again a strange detachment in his manner. "I think we need say no more about Macedon for today."

Cain and the elder knight exchanged glances; neither of them believed for one second that Marth would abandon his fiancee to please Maria's loyalists. The Macedonians would hear the message that His Highness was pledged to marry Caeda, First Princess of Talys, and that this long-standing commitment was not to be broken for political expediency.

"Sire, may I speak privately with you on a separate matter?"

Marth nodded; though he looked at Cain directly, his left hand was occupied with Queen Liza's ring. He pulled it repeatedly to the second joint on his finger, then shoved it back down again.

"Something you said a while back puzzles me, Your Highness. You mentioned that Medeus has not yet been destroyed, but I distinctly remember Archsage Gotoh's statement that Medeus has, in fact, been completely destroyed this time."

"I heard what Gotoh said, Cain. I also heard what Medeus said."

"I'm afraid I can't recall it, sire."

"Medeus promised that, when the hearts of man give way to greed, and the Shield of Seals falls to ruin a second time, he will rise from the earth once more."

It took a few heartbeats for Cain to get his jaw working properly.

"You surely do not give credit to the dying curses of-"

"I can no longer afford to not credit such things," the prince replied. "And, perhaps, cannot afford to dismiss out of hand ideas that seem, on the surface, to be absurd."

_To Be Continued_

_

* * *

_

Author's Note: No, the final line is not intended to be a hint that Marth is considering the polygyny option. Note the second appearance of the "voice" in Cain's head- some skeletons are coming out of the closet here. Speaking of skeletons, the zombies are courtesy of FE2.

Stay tuned for Chapter Four...


	4. Spring

**Another Piece of Blue**

Warnings: Spoilers for FE3, some adult language and references to adult situations. Again.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon_, _Fire Emblem: Monshou no Nazo_, or any of the characters therein.

* * *

_Chapter Four_

Cain knew of his sovereign's role in the future of Aurelis. Rather, he had pieced together the facts on his own- the northern kingdom had an infirm, childless king, the last of his line, and the crown was supposed to default to Empress Nyna once His Serene Highness King Marlon II went to the gods. As Nyna had decided to pass the burdens of her rule to Marth, Cain could only assume that Aurelis was, in effect, part of the parcel. He was _not_ aware that Marlon already had promised his lands to Marth nearly a year before, regardless of any dealings with Nyna. Once he'd absorbed that particular surprise, Cain decided he was pleased that Marth intended to make this transition easier on them all by familiarizing himself with Aurelian laws and customs in advance. There should be none of the missteps taken with Macedon- first promising to maintain the laws and customs, then going back on that promise once he read the laws in question.

"You'll be with me for this journey, Cain."

Cain told himself that he had no right at all to feel crestfallen that Marth wasn't allowing him to "mind the shop counter" this time, but he did feel compelled to ask about it.

"Then who shall govern Altea in your stead, sire?"

"Caeda."

"That is an unorthodox move, Your Highness." To place one's legal wife- a crowned queen- in charge of the state for a brief spell was uncommon enough. To allow one's betrothed, a foreign princess, to rule Altea... well, unorthodox didn't begin to cover it. History was not Cain's specialty, but he doubted such a thing had ever been done since the days of the Liberation Wars. If ever it had!

"She will do a good job," said Marth, which left no argument permissible or even possible.

So, accompanied again by the stolid and watchful Ruth, they set out for the long journey to the breadbasket of the continent, the land of the great northern plains. The Aurelian king welcomed them to his capital, a place Cain had visited briefly during wartime. Then, Cain had not given particular appreciation to the grandeur of the architecture or to the luxuries of Marlon's court; he'd merely been glad to have a safe haven in allied territory after so many months on the run. It was a different world now, and when Cain saw the delegation that His Serene Highness had arranged to greet them, he thought it looked like a scene from the great tapestries that once hung in the Altean throne room. Either Marlon could spare the gold to equip twelve gift-bearing maidens with garlands of jeweled flowers- one, it seemed, for each month of the year- or the old king just didn't care if handed massive debts to his successor.

The initial days of the visit were a dreamlike experience, unlike anything Cain had seen since the reign of Marth's father. Aurelis served as a showcase for the semi-divine nature of the crowned king; here alone on the mainland the concept had not been sullied by humiliation, defeat, or murder. Cain struggled with the concept that there existed two formal offices whose purpose was to assist the king in _dressing_- one to hand His Serene Highness a shirt, and a second, lesser office to give him the other garments. While Marlon might actually need the help, as cataracts had left him nearly blind, said offices went back two generations.

"Small wonder Hardin left for the plains," said Prince Marth as he unbuttoned his own tunic one evening. "Life in this court would be death by lingering asphyxiation."

At the mention of the late emperor, Cain felt an automatic burst of tension between his shoulders. To invoke Hardin's name in the very palace where he'd been born seemed unwise, for here his presence lingered- not the ghost of the madman, but the spirit of the capable young lord who had showed so much promise. Now that Hardin no longer posed an immediate threat to peace, it was permissible to mourn him; King Marlon had a portrait of his younger brother, painted when Hardin was perhaps nineteen or twenty, on display in the main hall of Aurelis Castle as a memorial. Cain felt the keen brown eyes upon him each time he walked by.

-x-

The niceties of the Aurelian court failed to hide its foreign nature. The first sour note in their visit came the second morning, when Ruth arrived with the message that Prince Marth's horse was ready for the convenience of His Highness. The Aurelians shared a look amongst themselves that bordered on consternation. It was, Cain decided when thinking upon it later, as though a dog had spoken. Cain couldn't fault the girl's speech or demeanor, and so couldn't well reprimand her for it, but the incident did bother him.

Things grew worse that afternoon when Marth tired of the history lesson the Aurelian bishops had prepared for him and interrupted with a topic that their hosts hadn't planned to touch.

"No one has managed to explain to me why the Aurelian plainsmen were enslaved to begin with."

"The tribal men of the plains are heretics, Your Highness. They abjure the church and worship brutal deities in the form of creatures- wolves and wild boars and the mountain-cats."

"Oh, is that all?" Cain knew the edge to his sovereign's voice, the thinly-veiled sarcasm usually reserved for out-and-out villains. "It wasn't really very fair to them, was it?"

"Your Highness, the men of the plains also refused to pay tribute to the Crown. They roamed the king's lands without acknowledging his laws."

"And the kings of days past could think of no better remedy than slavery. I see."

"Every seven years, they would sacrifice a young man unscarred by battle to their false gods," put in another of these bishops. "They would crown him king of the plains and riddle him with arrows."

"And they continued to do so under Hardin's protection?"

"No, Your Highness. The sacrifices did cease generations ago." This particular bishop, Demian by name, had a conciliatory manner that reminded Cain of Pontifex Wendell. Clearly Demian had enough fear of his future lord that he wanted to get past this uncomfortable issue as quickly as possible. "Lord Hardin in his youth was sent to subdue the plainsmen. Rather than attack them directly, he infiltrated them, and not only did he gain the trust of the plainsmen, they gained Lord Hardin's respect and he fought to free them from bondage. The plainsmen gave him the title Coyote- the little brother of the wolf- as a sign of that mutual regard. They were his men ever after."

This explanation was offered to Marth as an sort-of apology for the way the former slaves in Hardin's service had attacked him during the most recent war. Marth was in no mood to accept it, or to accept any of these other excuses regarding the slavery issue.

"You've seen the squire in my company? Her grandfather, a knight in service to my own grandfather, purchased a slave woman from one of your markets. He took her back to Altea, liberated her and made her his honored wife and the mother of his heirs. Their children, and their grandchildren, are held in the same esteem as any of my subjects." All sarcasm evaporated, and Marth took the role of the hard-edged persuader now; every word carried the threat of "persuasion" by force if the Aurelians chose not to adopt his vision. "To set the plainsmen free is not enough. Every code in your lawbooks that holds the former slaves and their descendants as anything less than full citizens of Aurelis will be abolished."

It was, Cain decided, to their advantage that the Aurelians were inclined to take the word of the Altean prince as the spoken will of heaven. That afternoon they made actual headway in unpicking the iniquities of Aurelian civil law. The conference, and the effort of maintaining his facade before the Aurelians, was draining enough that Marth informed Marlon that he was not attending a play before dinner.

"We're taking a ride."

Without, as it happened, an Aurelian escort. Cain followed his sovereign as they rode without any apparent direction, all the way to the line of gentle, grassy hills that bordered the Great Lea of Aurelis. It was, Cain decided, a much nicer sight without a row of enemy cavalry bearing down on them. The tops of the tall grasses undulated in the wind in a rippling pattern; just watching it for a few minutes soothed the nerves somewhat.

"Quite intuitive of you to bring Ruth along," said Marth as their horses cantered along the border of the Lea. "She illustrated my points nicely."

"You credit me with too much, sire. Cecil recommended Ruth, deeming her to be the most suitable of our trainees for a diplomatic mission. I'm pleased to say the girl has met, and even exceeded, expectations." Cain then felt it necessary to temper his praise, lest the prince- mindful of the thin ranks of their knights- take the notion to promote Ruth too soon. "Of course, she has no proper combat experience."

"If I have more servants trained in diplomacy, perhaps I won't need as many for battle. Some day..." The rest of his words were lost in the wind.

"Your Highness, I have noticed that Ruth's presence causes a fair amount of discomfort to our hosts. Is it merely that, from her coloring alone, they guessed at her heritage?"

"Tell me, Cain- have you ever seen a female knight of Aurelis?"

"No, sire. I cannot say that I have."

"It is not, as they say in these parts, the custom." The hostile tone crept back into his voice. "Hardin did accept some girls into his service as squires at the outset of his reign- I recall that three of them took part in the battle for the capital. None survived that battle."

This was news to Cain, and he turned his head to gaze briefly again at the Lea as he first tried to remember the bloody, bloody battle for Pales, then tried very hard not to remember. Marth's next words broke into his reverie.

"Fate gave to this land a king who was bold and far-sighted, just and compassionate- and then sent me to be his executioner."

"You did all in your power to save Hardin from himself, Your Highness."

"Did I really? If I had gone to him when I first intended, at the first whispers of atrocities in Grust committed in Hardin's name..." Marth stared out across the rippling grasses, but it was plain enough to Cain that his sovereign was _seeing_ something else entirely- the blood-spattered throne at Pales, perhaps. "No. Even then, his forces were already on the march to destroy Altea. I was like the fool in a play, reciting my lines with little idea of the greater drama around me."

"Your Highness, no sane man would suspect the kind of machinations that Hardin set upon us. And no good man would expect an ally to unleash such suffering for such an absurd end. You heard Hardin's words at the Bridge of Souls- he spoke of destroying all the world. That was madness, pure and simple."

"I was blinded, Cain. And it took the deaths of many, many decent men to make me see." Then he said, in a voice almost bright, "Come on, Cain. We can't be late for dinner- I'm sure Marlon spent a fortune on it."

Cain, though the better horseman by far, had a hard time catching up with the prince as they raced back toward the castle.

The prince's mood did not improve any during their stay in Aurelis. King Marlon proved a perceptive man in spite of his dim eyes, one who tried to make his esteemed guest comfortable in all ways. It was a comfort Marth resisted.

"I killed his brother, and yet he welcomes me as a son. He welcomes me as a son because I killed his only brother. I can't tolerate this, Cain."

Cain handed the prince a clean shirt; evidence of Marth's tangled history with Hardin was scored onto the prince's own body. His left shoulder bore the mark of an arrow fired by the Coyote's most loyal servant, while extensive scarring on his torso told of Hardin's attempts to ram the triple-pointed head of the Gradivus lance through Marth's heart. Marth looked down at Cain through half-lowered lashes as Cain laced up the shirt.

"Cain, is this too much?"

"I do not understand, Your Highness." Though he did, really.

Marth attached a finely-crafted dagger to his belt; his hand lingered there for a long moment, as though he found reassurance in the solid hilt.

"Cain, you must promise me..."

"Your Highness?"

"Later."

Marth was the Prince of Light from the moment he stepped from their guest apartments, all the scars covered by the fine clothing they'd bought to meet the Aurelian standards of royal fashion. The rest of their visit proved cordial enough, though Cain felt a rising irritation whenever he saw Ruth treated as a menial servant instead of a qualified squire. The prince spoke no more of this mysterious promise; his spirits did not lift until they were home again, away from the shadow of the brilliant and compassionate lord who drenched the world in blood during the brief time he ruled it.

-x-

Jagen said that Caeda had done brilliantly as Regent of Altea. Cecil reported that all the little ones behaved themselves during his absence, including the twosome inclined to "fraternize." Rody and Catria sent back some slightly less grim reports from Gra, indicating that the mild, rainy winter had brought fewer deaths than anticipated. Discontent in Macedon eased slightly when the princess Maria made a public appearance in which she assured her supporters that she was interested in spiritual pursuits and not earthly ones. All remained quiet on the western front in Grust. Cain had so much to occupy his time on a daily basis that he should not have had time to worry about anything above the mundane, but before long he did find a part of his attentions consumed by a dark abstraction.

There had never been any chance that Marth would unleash Dragoons and their war-dragons on a crowd of civilians, be they his own subjects or anyone else's. The fact that Dragoons still existed as a military force in Macedon, though, was a concern in itself. Macedonian pegasus knights had their utility, but the riders tended to be young and rather fragile girls. The Macedonian cavalry had already been gutted and had been of mixed quality to start with. But the Dragoons were the backbone of Macedon's military power. Once fanatically loyal to the usurper king Michalis, they splintered into factions during Minerva's brief reign and were now in disarray.

If the Red Dragonknight, a Macedonian to her core, could not maintain order among the Dragoons, how was a foreign-born king to keep their allegiance?

-x-

"And if any man shall take a woman by force, he shall suffer death, unless the woman will consent to take him in marriage. If a man shall repeat his offense a second time, he shall suffer death, unless the crime be against the same woman he has already offended, in which case his fate shall be in her hands..."

The ripped page of the _Aurelian Code_ fell to the carpet a few inches away from Cain's feet.

"Would you like me to dispose of that, Your Highness?"

"Yes." Marth had both of his hands pressed to his temples, and for a moment Cain thought the prince was going to actually tear at his hair in frustration. "Does that make any sense to you, Cain? Does it make sense to have a law that basically allows a man to rape his own wife again and again as long as she's too afraid to ask for his execution?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Hardin had a point, Cain."

"In leaving his brother's court for the plains, sire?" They'd _agreed _on this point already...

"No, in deciding the world was corrupt and past saving. The more I read of the laws that men crafted to govern our seven wonderful kingdoms, the less I like any of it." Marth pulled at a lock of hair that fell in front of his ear. "Talys has some decent laws. Mostyn crafted quite a nice code out of their tribal traditions. I think we ought to take a trip there and seek his advice. I should have the time for it in about five years."

Cain took note of the number of torn pages out of the _Code_ that littered the floor by Marth's desk while the prince again waxed sarcastic. This, he decided, was not the time to bring up the Macedonian issue. Cain had his chance several days later, after another satisfactory report from Gra had put Marth in a better mood.

"Rody has a promotion coming if he can stay the course."

"He is deserving, sire." It surprised Cain that the prince had said nothing about Catria, as in Cain's opinion she had been Rody's equal in reconstruction efforts, but in that moment he was more concerned with Macedon in general than with one particular dragonknight of Macedon. "Your Highness, if I may speak with you regarding the Macedonian Dragoons."

"Ah. You don't care for them, Cain?" The prince offered him a faint, almost rueful smile.

"No, Your Highness. I can't say that I do."

Marth rose from his chair and walked to the copy of the blue-tinged map that hung opposite his place at the conference table.

"Every rule of governance has changed. What was ideal for a small country like Altea cannot work for us now." Marth traced his finger along the rugged northern coastline. "I need their mobility, Cain. If we were to be attacked in Grust, where our forces are spread most thinly, it would take many days for your Temple Knights to reach the battle whether over land or by ship. A brigade of Dragoons could be there in a fraction of the time."

"So could a brigade of pegasus knights. Your Highness, I agree we need aerial fighters to defend this patchwork kingdom you've inherited, but pegasus knights are by necessity young girls, many of them fresh out of training. The surviving Dragoons are hardened soldiers, women who have outlasted two kings and their princess and whose loyalty cannot be counted upon in a crisis."

"If the Dragoons were disbanded, what would become of them? Members of an elite fighting force with no purpose in life- and no income- would be the most disruptive element in a society that is disruptive enough as it is! I can take away their weapons and put down their dragons, but I cannot _stop_ them, Cain. Anyone of sufficient strength and bravery can capture and break in a wild war-dragon. I would rather have them serving me, even if they carry a fire for Michalis in their hearts, than have them roaming my kingdom as a rogue element."

As usual, the prince made a sensible case for himself. But Cain was not satisfied by it this time, and he had plenty more of his own to say. And say it he did- not in a passionate plea but as a thoroughly _dis_passionate argument. Cain had researched the matter, conducted interviews, and even used the blasted communication crystals so he could bounce his ideas off Draug before speaking his piece.

"The Macedonians are not _like_ us, Your Highness," he concluded. "They are a slave people still, governed by pure obedience and happy under the rule of a tyrant. We freed them from the misrule of Michalis, yet they mourn him even now. Men and women of Macedon both believe themselves expendable, and soldiers consider themselves to be nothing greater than ants streaming out of a burrow. How can these people serve Your Highness, when they do not even teach honor as we know it in Altea?"

He had overstepped his boundaries for certain this time- perhaps even Jagen would not have argued at such length- and the prince was silent for a moment. Cain waited at attention, half expecting dismissal.

"Your honesty, as always, is commendable, Cain." In Marth's eyes, Cain saw the same distant look that he'd noticed during the business of the misbehaving squires. Marth turned back toward the map and this time traced along the southernmost shores of his vast domain. "But the time has come to bury ideas such as 'we in Altea.' The Macedonians are our people now."

For the first time, Cain was not sure as to whether he was included in the pronoun, or whether the prince had decided to employ the archaic regal "we." Upon reflection, he decided it was all too likely to be the latter.

-x-

The long-delayed wedding of Prince Marth to Caeda of Talys took place on the first day of spring, the date chosen as most auspicious by the court astrologers. The astrologers argued something to do with the phases of the moon, though Cain supposed they were merely making a justification to combine the spring _fiesta_, the wedding celebration and subsequent coronation, and Marth's own birthday observance into one single riot that would live through the ages. Caeda in her bridal gown dazzled the public, and at the coronation the following day the Temple Knights agreed that the silver diadem of the Altean queens did suit Caeda nicely. Cain for his own part had mostly been consumed with agitation- a crowd of people intoxicated with joy carried the same threat as an army mad with bloodlust. But in the moment when the crown of Altea was set upon the head of his sovereign, Cain felt a strange tight sensation in his chest, and he found himself biting at his lower lip and blinking rapidly to keep control over himself. They had fought so long, so hard, at so terrible a cost to reach that moment. He relived seven years in that moment, beginning with the mad gallop home from Menedy River, his throat raw as he shouted of Gra's treason to the whole wide countryside. He remembered the pain from his half-healed wounds as he hid through the night under cover of brush with one hand clutching the tunic of his fourteen-year-old prince just to make sure that, too, wouldn't be taken from him. He remembered the spatter of blood on his armor, red upon red, left by the first man he killed in the _Reconquista_. He remembered the feeling of utter relief, the release from crushing guilt, that he experienced in the moment when he realized Marth didn't _blame_ him for allowing Altea to be conquered again on his watch. The moment when he realized that, once more, the situation was about far more than one knight and his honor, and that being alive to fight another day was simply enough.

Cain glanced instinctively to the side, imagining that he'd see an old companion there. There was nothing beside him, not even a ghost.

While his knights cleaned up the detritus of the massive _fiesta_, Cain worked late into the night adjusting his maps again. Caeda's aged father still held power, but Talys would pass as a matter of course to the crown princess and her new husband. Such had been the plan always.

_Talys and Altea are so far apart... may as well hold all that lies between them_, Cain thought as he colored the eastern island with slanting blue lines. When old King Mostyn finally went to the gods, Cain would fill in the blank spaces and place Talys solidly in Altean control. Until then, it was best not to get ahead of oneself.

-x-

King Marth and Queen Caeda enjoyed rule of Altea and its territories for a week before they were obliged to pack their household and travel to Pales, where a second, grander coronation awaited them. Cain- no longer merely Knight Captain but _Knight Commander_- went along for the journey. He was not much looking forward to another grueling day of maintaining civil order, this time without even pride in his motherland to enrich the experience. Pales, that crowded jumble of ancient streets rife with crime and disease, was already one of his least favorite places in all of Marth's territory. Cain felt certain he would resent every day of their stay in the capital.

Cain had a surprise coming. A dark-haired woman in the garb of a Macedonian dragonknight greeted the royal party before they'd even stepped down from the sparkling new warp pavilion.

"Your Majesty. It's been a while."

Cain started at the tone of Catria's voice; he wondered if he'd imagined a degree of unexpected familiarity. But Marth and Caeda seemed not to have noticed anything; the king was teasing Catria, saying it was nice to meet up with her under circumstances that didn't involve a state crisis. Catria smiled at Marth- she smiled more often than any knight of Cain's acquaintance- but quickly turned sober and touched her fingers to her brow.

"I await Your Majesty's orders."

At the first available moment- two days after their arrival- Cain gave his squire a list of errands so that he could have a word alone with Dame Catria. Once Ruth departed, Cain began his interrogation.

"It surprises me to see you this far north. I thought you were devoted heart and soul to Macedon, and would head there as soon as the Gra mission ended."

"What is good for Archanea is good for Macedon."

Cain started; it was an odd thing to hear coming from Macedonian lips. He wondered if Catria had received a version of the "Macedonians are our people now" talk, tailored to suit her own preconceptions.

"You still lead the Temple Knights," she said, and Cain thought he heard a hint of a question in her words.

"Allegedly. It seems I spend more time at a desk, or in council, than I do in the barracks these days."

His chambers in Pales already were in the disarray of his quarters back home in Altea. Maps, charts, and memoranda littered the desk, along with ink and quills, wax and seals.

"So untidy, Cain. I thought you'd keep your desk as pristine as your armor."

"The only functionaries with clean desks are the ones who don't do any actual work."

This drew a flickering smile from Catria.

"I'll have to remember that one," she said. Her bright eyes passed over the piles of unfinished work and came to linger on the maps. "These maps... they were Abel's."

"He drew some of them." Cain watched as Catria's long fingers reached toward a pencil-case.

"These maps, yes. And these pencils. Blue markings for our own forces on the map, red for the enemy..."

She ran her fingers over the pencils, causing the paper tubes to rustle.

He didn't want to reminisce, and he especially didn't want to discuss Abel, and was on the verge of telling her so when he noticed a stillness, a kind of pulling in, had come over her. Catria withdrew her hand from the pencil box and looked down at her fingers as though the colors had dirtied her. They did not speak, nor even look at one another, but it seemed a silent understanding passed between them.

-x-

They traveled to the Pales ceremony by warp magic, but returned to Altea by means of a grand procession, aimed to show the citizens of Archanea their new sovereign and to assure them that he wasn't the monster of wartime propaganda, the foolish youth intoxicated by pride and ambition. They spent some nights in villages, others in great manor houses, and finally came to rest at the pleasant open-air palace of Gra, from which all trace of the previous ruling house had been expunged save the names upon the royal crypt. Queen Caeda asked Cain to accompany her out to the garden; he had very little idea of what she wanted to discuss and had the irrational fear that Dame Catria was somehow involved. Cain felt equally irrational relief when it turned out that the queen only wanted to discuss her favorite subject.

"He told me everything would be more difficult." She spoke in an offhand manner that, through some paradox, heightened the import of her words. "I'm only beginning to understand."

"It is a different world, my lady," he said, for what could he do but agree?

"It's another war," said his queen. "Another campaign, and I don't think this one shall ever end."

"It will be a long struggle, Your Majesty."

"Long, but so necessary. As necessary as anything that came before." She closed her eyes briefly, and while her face was still that of a woman not yet twenty, she had lost the gaudy brilliance of pure youth. Experience had touched her in some indefinable way, giving true beauty to features that otherwise would have merely been pretty. Her eyes, when she opened them again, held no girlish innocence. "I can see that he is the one force holding this shattered mosaic of a kingdom together, the very way he held the army together."

"This is true, Your Majesty."

This meandering procession across the kingdom had shown them as much. The Archanean people were exhausted, all passions spent from a decade of war, false hope, and more war. Music and bright banners did not rouse them from weariness, and none of the speeches made by any nobles or sages or bishops seemed to affect them; they gazed upward with dead-eyed stares through the latest round of promises. Only when _he_ spoke to them did the people come to life, pressing forward to touch his boots or the hem of his mantle. On some level, the response mystified Cain. Marth's voice, though pleasant, was too soft to carry well before a mass of listeners without magical amplification. His speeches were scattered with archaic phrases and poetic references likely wasted on most of his subjects. And yet, there was something in his words, or his manner- or perhaps simply in that he was still so very young- that moved people. Something that allowed them to open their distrustful hearts and want to believe in Marth, or even to love him.

Though they did not love his knights, or his advisors, and they most certainly did not love his chosen queen. That the princess of an insignificant land, one generation removed from tribal conflicts, should stand beside the very Prince of Light continued to be a point of contention. Half the noblewomen on the mainland believed themselves to have a better bloodline than did the royal house of Talys, and that unpleasantness had been rubbed Cain's face by nobles and the commoners alike.

"His death would be a catastrophe, Cain."

"I cannot agree more with you," he replied. Cain sensed the queen was about to illustrate her point with a story- a trait taken from her father, who had often imparted wisdom to the exiles in his court in just such a manner.

"There once was a giant who held up the heavens and prevented the stars from falling upon the earth. One day a young boy, a traveler seeking his fortune, passed near to the giant, and when he heard the giant moan and saw sweat pouring from the man's brow, he asked if there was anything he might do to ease the other man's suffering. And the giant, a crafty man, told the boy that if he could have his burden relieved for just a moment, if he might shift his shoulders and make himself more comfortable, that he would be eased greatly."

Cain waited for her to continue; he watched her small hands shred the petals of a pale blue flower.

"So the guileless boy climbed to the peak of the highest mountain, and took the burden of the sky upon his own shoulders. And the giant rolled away, his aching shoulders heaving with laughter. When the boy called down protests from the mountain peak, the giant simply waved at him, and walked off a free man."

"And then?"

"As with all old tales, there's more than one ending to the story." Caeda twirled the naked stem of the flower. "Some say the boy turned to stone himself, and that on a clear day you can see his figure atop Mount Adria. Some say the gods took pity on him in the end, and turned him into the star about which the heavens spin, the star that never sets. But he never came down."

She let the bare stem fall to the path, then turned to Cain with those great azure eyes that could bend a man's will. In those eyes, he saw not a girl's hope, nor a woman's wiles, but the steel-hard force of someone born to rule. No one could see the daughter of Talys in that light and underestimate her a second time.

"We all must share that burden, Cain. The heavens must rest on my shoulders, too, and yours, and those of Draug and Merric and Palla. All of us."

She spoke to him as an equal, as a confidante, but Cain realized she was in effect asking him to swear yet another oath on top of his earlier vows.

"I will do my part to carry that weight, my lady." He spoke to her truly, though even as the words passed his lips, he knew that this service would not be for a term of twenty years, or even thirty. This oath would hold until a perfect world was built upon earth, or until Cain let out his final breath. It would have frightened him, perhaps, but a man who had walked through the Dragons' Dale had his threshold for fear set so high that it left him a little unbalanced. But if such imperfect tools could be of use to Their Majesties, then so be it.

"Thank you, Cain. I do enjoy talking with you; you're such a good listener."

And with that, she closed to him, as a flower might close with the fall of day. She left him chained by the promise that he would never be as the faithless giant, slipping out from under his obligations with a laugh.

_To Be Continued_

_

* * *

_Author's Notes: Yow. This was originally planned as a one-shot of about 7,000 words or so. In other words, this chapter alone is nearly the length that the story itself was supposed to be!

So, after a prolonged build-up, Catria the White finally enters the scene. I don't see Catria as someone terribly skilled in politics (she defends Minerva's rule even after Minerva is overthrown and Macedon itself is on the brink of destruction). She's intended here as a foil to Cain- 100% the loyal knight and soldier, while Cain is straddling that border between loyal knight and "honest advisor." Let's see where Chapter Five pushes him, shall we? Oh, yes, this should all wrap up next chapter.

PS: I said at the beginning of this story that it contained a hint of Cain's unrequited love for another character. There are three candidates presented in this 'fic and I'm very deliberately not telling!


	5. Until the End of Man

**Another Piece of Blue**

Warnings: Spoilers for FE3, some adult language and references to adult situations. Again.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon_, _Fire Emblem: Monshou no Nazo_, or any of the characters therein.

_Author's Note_: In the time since I began this story and finished it, a remake- or reboot- of _Monshou no Nazo_ has come out in Japan. For the purposes of this story, _Shin Monshou_ and its continuity and characterization changes do not exist. This story remains based in FE3 plot and my own interpretation of FE11 characterization. If something is "wrong" in light of FE12, I do not care- it did not exist when I first wrote this story.

* * *

_Chapter Five_

One of the most thorny problems facing the new Unified Kingdom of Archanea was the issue of money; there was simultaneously too much of it, and yet not enough. There existed too much coin in the sense that dozens of denominations- silver, gold and copper in all sizes- flooded the marketplace. There was not enough coin in the sense that much of what was in circulation was debased, or clipped at the edges, or outright counterfeit. The two issues proved inextricable. Silver Granese coins from Jiol's reign were notoriously easy to counterfeit, as the silver was already cut with base metal; coins from Khadein, however, would burn with inner fire if the edges were clipped, often scarring the hands of the would-be clipper.

Marth tossed a handful of bad money onto the conference table.

"The greatest scholars of the age have set their minds to the issue, and the best they can offer is that all the coins currently in the marketplace need to be withdrawn, melted, and struck anew."

"Surely that is not possible, sire." Cain examined one of the false Granese silver pieces; he could spot it as counterfeit because the quality of work was too good for the piece to have come out of Jiol's mint.

"With every piece struck by hand, it would indeed be impossible. We would need some sort of mechanized process... a stamping machine able to strike many coins at once."

"No such machine exists, of course."

"Actually, we've found something of the sort at Dolhr, a relic of the Age of Dragons from the sound of it."

Dragon "technology," again. Cain felt a familiar sinking feeling as he realized that yet another item had fallen off the king's list of things not possible. And if borrowing military ideas from Macedon weren't enough, the idea that Marth had agents scouring _Dolhr_ for innovative ideas bordered on alarming. No, it _was_ alarming.

"I think it would make people quite unhappy to lose their own familiar currency, sire." Cain well remembered the day during the Great Exile when he'd received a piece of Altean gold as change from a seafaring peddler. To feel the weight of the gold in his hand reminded him that there really had been an Altea, and a King Cornelius, and it was a tangible reminder that they all had something worth fighting for.

"We don't have the ability yet," Marth said. Like Lord Merric's ideas for warp transportation, the plan wasn't discarded, just set aside for a later day. But once the dragon-made machines were dusted off and set in working order, the day would come. Cain would have to assemble a stock of ideas for why upending the entire monetary system was a dangerous move. For one, as long as areas like Grust, Khadein, and the Free Cities were outside of Marth's direct control, the whole scheme wouldn't _work._

So the coinage issue continued to pose a threat to the financial health of the kingdom; in the meantime, Archanea's new monarch directed his servants to continue the massive overhaul of all extant legal codes. Cain and Catria both found themselves effectively chained to desks, poring over crabbed texts scribbled in fading ink upon yellowed parchment. It was tedious for Cain and a genuine trial for Catria, who had never fully mastered the continental script. Many a time, Cain found himself setting aside his own assignment to guide Catria through some convoluted passage in fifth-century High Archanean. That she persevered in the task, to the point where her eyes would light up when she worked out some insanely cryptic passage on her own, astounded Cain. Most knights, faced with such miserable desk duty, might have found an excuse to climb out the window and get back to the training field.

They made progress, of a sort. Out went the age-old permissions to shoot any manakete found within the city walls of Pales. Out went a code forbidding women to wear breeches on state holidays. Female knights of Macedon were no longer required to marry within six months of leaving service. Cain looked at Catria and wondered what force under heaven might have compelled her to join with some dolt of a Macedonian cavalier. So went the detail work of fashioning the "patchwork kingdom" into something cohesive; in the meantime, their king had his mind on reforms at a higher level.

"Hardin was right in one respect; the calendar does need correction."

The old Adrah calendar was out of step with the length of the actual year; imperfect calculations made centuries before had thrown the reckoning of days off-kilter. While this bedeviled astrologers, as Cain stared at the great calendar-scroll draped across the conference table he couldn't see that the difference truly mattered.

"By Pontifex Wendell's calculations, a full seven days should be deleted to bring our earthly calendar in line with the heavens." Marth slashed one finger across the current week as though he could remove those days from existence at will. "Cain, Catria, what are your thoughts?"

"It is not my place to say, Your Majesty."

"They will riot in the streets of every city." As far as Cain was concerned, it was his place to speak, to keep his king off the path of disaster. There were only so many changes people could handle in so short a time, and to take seven days from the calendar sounded like a policy change too far. Cain would rather be damned for disobedience than to play the role of a good soldier on this point.

"Perhaps. Ah, well. It's been wrong for six hundred years, and we can survive with its flaws a little longer." Marth flashed them both a mirthless smile. "It's a good thing I didn't take that attitude regarding the Shield of Seals."

He then set them free from their desks for the day and sent them back to their regular duties. Cain bowed, while Catria saluted Marth the way a Macedonian officer would salute her commander- shading her eyes with one hand, as though the literal brilliance of the sovereign might otherwise blind her.

-x-

Altea. Gra Bastion. Macedon. Altea again. Gra again. Pales. Cain often saw the sun rise in one land, saw it set upon another. And yet compared to the king, whose presence might be needed in three lands in the space of a day, Cain was stationary.

"I pray that warp magic truly is as harmless as the scholars say," he muttered to himself after watching his sovereign disappear yet again. All that being pulled apart and pieced back together still didn't seem safe.

No matter the place, it seemed that every morning began with a meeting. In Cain's experience, councils of war often proved useless, and peacetime council still more so. It was often a charade, a time for various opinions to be aired, after which the king would do as he pleased regardless. As he hurried across the pavement of Millennium Court to another of these sessions, Cain noticed a group of scrofulous people gathered at the southern end of the courtyard. From their dress, they seemed to be of varying classes, but of course all levels of society suffered in the wars, and even the apparently well-to-do might be seeking gold or favors.

Cain was not the only one to notice; the king broke off debate on the latest plan to fight counterfeit coinage and went to gaze out the window at the favor-seekers.

"What do those people at the southern arch want?"

"They have come here to be touched, Your Majesty," said Dame Midia.

"_Touched_?" Marth echoed. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"From the days of King Adrah, the royal line of Archanea has carried a gift of healing. In particular, the touch of the newly-crowned monarch is known to heal the ailment called Dragon's Neck." This came not from Midia, but from the little clergyman chosen to take Bishop Boah's place at court. "Though it fell out of practice in recent generations, Empress Nyna did institute the Touch once more, and sufferers... er... they hope that the Prince of Light holds the same power to heal them."

"I hold no such power." Marth said after a long, leaden pause. "Give these poor people some gold and send them all home."

Fortunately, the schedule was light that day; Cain and his sovereign were able to sleep under the roof of Millennium Court for a second night running.

"Remind me, Cain, of the promises I made today," said Marth as he removed the ancient circlet of the Archanean kings from his head. His hair, freed of its restraints, spilled down around a face as drawn and shadowed as Cain had ever seen it; Queen Caeda's point about reconstruction being just another phase of war was well-illustrated.

"I've kept a list of them, Your Majesty. In particular..."

He'd barely started when Cain noticed a change in the sound of the king's breathing. Marth had- almost as soon as he'd settled into his chair- fallen fast asleep.

"I beg Your Majesty's pardon. I'll continue with this at a more favorable time."

-x-

In the morning they were off again to Altea, and Cain didn't get the opportunity to resume the discussion until the afternoon, directly after Archbishop Ellerean of Khadein had an interview with the king. Cain exchanged a few words with the clergyman as they passed one another; he thought he saw something regretful in Ellerean's normally stern mien.

Marth had quite a lot to say about the archbishop once the door was closed behind Cain.

"Ellerean suspects that the goal of my sister's Academy is to break the stranglehold that Khadein currently has on magical education. Thereby diminishing his own power, of course."

"His Eminence has shown himself prone to baseless suspicions in the past. Pontifex Wendell could be disposed to set his mind at ease."

At several points during the war, it had fallen to affable Wendell to soothe the pride of his protégé.

"His Eminence is perfectly correct in this suspicion." The king's matter-of-fact admission caused Cain to start in his seat. "I believe the events that transpired at Khadein during the wars show the inadequacy of keeping all magical knowledge in a corruptible set of hands."

"You do not believe Ellerean to still be..." Cain did not even want to say the words _walking the path of Gharnef_.

"No. He has been properly chastened and I do believe he is no longer of a mind to murder those he deems in his way. But the ease with which Khadein gripped by darkness, not once but twice, shows the need for some alternative... as little as His Eminence may like it."

It made sense enough to Cain, and he waited for dismissal. The king, though, wasn't done with the subject of Ellerean quite yet.

"His Eminence also expressed an interest in taking Yubello under his wing. No chance of that, I'm afraid."

"Of course not, Your Majesty." They could not risk that Ellerean or any in his circle might seek to use the Grustian heir as a pawn. "That does remind me of an issue I'd planned to raise with you, if I may."

"Go ahead."

"Just a concern regarding the education of Prince Yubello- his courses focus primarily on the theories and practice of magic. Would it not be helpful to allow him a great exposure to statecraft, or at least to grant him his own household? In two years, he will have reached his majority as the law of Grust reckons it."

"Regardless of the prior customs of Grust, seventeen is far too young to assume the burdens of rule. A transfer of authority to Grust would have to wait until Yubello is at least twenty-one."

On its surface, Marth's statement had no bearing on Cain's suggestion for Yubello's schooling. Yet this non-answer seemed to have extraordinary implications for the future of Grust and its Crown Prince, and Marth's abrupt change in manner- turning his head so as to not look Cain in the eye, twisting the coronation ring around his finger- bolstered Cain's grave suspicions about the king's motives. Added to that, Marth's response was no smooth and practiced answer, but came out in the halting speech of a man voicing an idea for the first time. An idea, perhaps, that he'd not fully laid out in his own thoughts until that moment.

It took some time for Cain to get his own thoughts in order.

"That indeed would be a most prudent course of action, Your Majesty."

And that was the end of it. Cain took a long ride that afternoon- without his squire or any other companion, though he did have Ruth pass word to Cecil that he would be out for a while.

When Cain did return he spent a time in his office contemplating the wall. His map proclaimed the western land barred in white and azure at the "Occupied Land of Grust." The pattern was deliberate, for it marked Grust as a protectorate of Altea, not as Marth's personal estate. Occupation was to be a temporary condition, and the azure bars would disappear entirely once Yubello reached his majority and was crowned head of the Kingdom of Grust. And yet, how many times had Cain explained- to Cecil, to Rody, even now to young Ruth- that last year's plans were dust, and that everything had changed?

Cain reached for the pencil-box. In time, they all would understand.

-x-

Knight Commander of the Temple Knights of Altea was equivalent to Knight Commander of the Royal Dragoons of Archanea in theory. In practice, Commander Catria was a person of far greater importance than Commander Cain, because the defense plans of the kingdom now centered on her Dragoons. It would have been insubordinate to entertain the thought that the king approached his embryonic Dragoon squad as a child would an exciting new toy, so Cain did _not_ think it. Others, however, proved less discreet. Cain found himself unreasonably nettled by the comments; he supposed that he was taking it all too personally, and so welcomed a mission to the land of Grust when it came up. Grust, for the first time in Cain's own life, was a quiet land- under Draug it had become an island apart from the great sea of intrigue.

It was the first time he'd seen his old comrade in the flesh since the end of Hardin's War, and Cain had to bite his tongue not to comment over Draug's increased weight. The general's massive frame could carry a bit of extra weight, for certain, but if he kept gaining at that pace, they'd soon need to build him his own separate castle. He led Cain on a punishing tour of Olbern Castle and its environs without ill effect, though; if anything, Draug seemed more content than Cain had seen him in long years. He showed Cain, with particular pride, small flourishes and improvements meant for the pleasure of Grust's absent heir. It was with considerable regret, then, that Cain sought to deflate Draug's plans.

"Prince Yubello will not be returning to Grust."

Color drained from the general's face, and it was a long tense moment before he spoke.

"What does His Majesty intend with Prince Yubello?"

"To surround him with sages and bishops and teach him to want a life devoted to the gods." The words sounded a bit harsh to Cain's own ears, but it was nothing less than the truth.

"I see." Draug's normally stolid countenance showed an impressive play of emotion, a visible struggle between life-long loyalties and the impulse to say something he knew to be treasonous. At the last, he said only, "Blast it, Cain. I care very much for that boy."

"Yubello is loved by all. But kingship doesn't suit him, and Grust is too fragile to be given to a diffident child." It would be absurd to even imagine the prince faced imprisonment or exile, after all- Yubello and his sister both could slip into the life of an ordinary subject, as Sheema of Gra had done. "Carry on as you've been, governing in the name of the prince. There is to be no official change in His Majesty's policy as of yet."

"And when will that day come?"

"When Yubello embraces the path fate has chosen for him. There is no need to hurry him along."

Draug's troubled eyes gave the lie to any words of agreement. On the third day of Cain's visit, his host repaid him for the news about Yubello's future with some deeply unpleasant talk.

"Our newest Knight Commander... it's making a stir, Cain."

"I can well imagine." Cain waged an inner battle to keep his tone even; this subject already irritated him.

"To promote a girl so young- what is she, nineteen?"

"All of twenty."

"To promote a girl so young over the heads of more experienced men... well, Cain, it's ruffled more than a few feathers around the mainland."

"There are still men living with experience on a war-dragon? I'd honestly thought we'd killed them all."

"You know there's more to being a commander than time in the saddle. Or whatever they call those riding-harnesses."

"Catria acquitted herself brilliantly in the peacekeeping mission to Gra. Her sister- little more than a year older- has done a superb job governing Macedon under trying conditions. I see no reason to make an issue of this."

Cain had known Draug since the day he'd shown up at court as a seven-year-old page and the outsized nine-year-old had actually been kind to him. The general was one of the least malicious people Cain had ever met, and so Cain could absolve him of starting any of these rumors. But from his demeanor- the way he shifted from foot to foot as though uncomfortable in his own large frame- it was obvious that Draug was genuinely bothered by the situation.

"Has the promotion anything to do with-"

"It has solely to do with the abilities of one of the finest aerial knights on this continent. On _any_ continent, if the tales of the Valencian civil war have any substance. I didn't come here so you could fill my head with gossip, sir."

Draug's broad features creased with hurt.

"I'm only telling you what's being said. It doesn't harm anyone to keep an ear to the ground."

"Where are the rumors coming from- Pales?"

"To some extent."

"Pales is a blasted nest of vipers."

That ended the conversation, but what had already been said was like a burr under Cain's saddle for the rest of his stay in Grust, despite his old friend's apologetic overtures. Even when he smiled, Cain felt himself floundering in an empty, aimless, _pointless_ anger, a corrosive feeling entirely unlike the righteous anger that he could channel into the edge of his sword. On his return to Altea, he headed straight for the Temple and and prayed as though it would purge his soul. He prayed for peace and stability and a good harvest across the land, for the queen's continued good health and a safe delivery come the springtime. He sent up an entire string of prayers for every good thing that he could envision, but left the temple feeling no more at ease with himself or the world at large.

Cain returned to the barracks for the first time in many days, seated himself at his cluttered desk, and stared at the azure-tinged map on the wall. The map proclaimed his current whereabouts as "The Kingdom of Altea," but the map lied. The Altea of his youth was gone. It was as much a thing of history as its siblings, Grust and Gra and Macedon. Were King Cornelius to return to the world he left only seven years before, he would not have known it. Many days, Cain didn't feel that he knew this fantastic world with its warp portals and communication stones, and ground that seemed to shift continually under his feet like the sand-traps of the Khadein Desert.

"Good to have you back with us, sir," said Cecil as she handed him another stack of memoranda.

"Am I really?"

-x-

He slipped the recommendation for Palla's promotion into a stack of pardons. While many malefactors had been granted amnesty under a general Act, those accused of certain crimes of war- as opposed to merely being on the emperor's side- required specific pardons to spare them the swift death of the archers' squad. Marth was generous, perhaps too much so, about commuting these sentences to something less permanent, such as exile on Pyrathi.

"Clever, Cain," said the king as he signed the promotion with a flourish.

"I believe she does deserve it." Not to mention that elevating Palla to the rank of Governor-General would lessen some of the glare upon Catria.

"Of course. Perhaps you should head off to Macedon and convey the good news to her yourself?"

Cain bowed, though he had little desire to warp overseas that day. He was relieved when the king gave him leave to spend three solid days abroad, making the trip something of a holiday. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd enjoyed anything of the sort.

When Cain returned to the mainland, the king summoned him for a chat. Cain expected that something had gone awry in his absence and so entered the chamber with a resigned and muted dread weighing him down. Marth's apparent high spirits disarmed him, though- the king was reading through a lengthy scroll, some treatise from that foreign land across the western ocean, and he was in a mood to discuss philosophy.

"_Panchaea_. It's the work of some monk in a place called Nova. The title translates to something along the lines of 'Nothing Land' or 'No Country.' It's this remarkable vision of the ideal nation- a world without kings and bishops, where each man is equal before the gods. A land free of the heavy hand of law, under which each man can live according to his conscience."

"It is fantasy, Your Majesty." Not to mention heresy and borderline treason. Though Cain supposed a foreigner from Nova was beyond the each of their laws.

"And why is that so, do you think?"

"The conscience of man is vile and depraved."

"Oh."

Marth seemed to draw back a little, and for a moment he looked younger than his actual age. Cain supposed the words were rather harsh, but a great many humans were irritating him of late, and besides that the king ought to find comfort in an affirmation that kings were necessary to keep order. Marth did quickly recover his poise.

"Well, while I enjoy _Panchaea_, why don't you have a look at this?"

"This" was a handwritten draft of some new Act; Cain recognized the writing as Marth's own and the language as quite familiar... in parts.

"That henceforth all manaketes who swear fealty to the Crown shall enjoy the full rights and privileges extended to all free subjects of this land, that they shall be afforded the due process of law..."

It was the same wording as the General Amnesty Act, but as Cain scanned through the document, the language seemed both new and shocking when applied to dragonkin.

"That they may bear weaponry in defense of the kingdom, travel freely within the realm, seek and hold gainful employment, own property, serve in any civic capacity whether elected or appointed..."

It spelled out the future rights of the dragonkin to attend schools, to participate in temple rites, to have their marriages legally recognized, to enjoy full rights of inheritance.

"You cannot be serious, sire."

"But I am, Cain." Marth spoke so quietly Cain could scarcely hear the words, but there was no hesitation, no indecision, in his voice. "I am entirely serious about this."

"This Act of yours would foment of revolt- from your _people_, sire."

Revolt in the streets of Pales where the fine citizens wore white ribbons in honor of Empress Nyna, revolt in the barren fields of Gra where ragged men gathered around campfires and proclaimed themselves The Dispossessed, revolt in the territories where the Grustian patriots wanted their King Yubello and the Macedonians clamored for Queen Maria. Revolt in Aurelis where the spirits of Hardin and his men roamed the plains, revolt in the Academy of Khadein where Archbishop Ellerean already had a coterie of jealous men around him. Revolt in Altea, where every man, woman, and child over the age of four knew the horrors inflicted on the land by the dragonkin. If this Act came to pass, King Marth would find himself exactly where he'd been seven years before- on a ship bound for Talys, while the mainland burned in his wake.

Cain said none of this, but he felt that Marth could read it all in the blood that surged through his face, leaving his cheeks alternately hot and cool.

"Is there such a difference between Morzas when he ravaged Altea with demonic fire, and General Lang when he razed the villages and salted the fields of Grust?" The sovereign held up before Cain a slender hoop of gold- the ring worn by his mother. His mother, who was killed for no purpose, whose corpse was defiled, whose resting-place was rendered abominable. "My parents both were murdered. Shall I embrace those who killed my father, yet put to the sword those who took my mother?"

Cain pressed his lips together, for there was nothing appropriate he might say in that moment. Marth sat down at the desk and began to trace a finger along the astonishing lines of the Amnesty Act.

"It's not unheard-of, Cain. After the Liberation Wars, King Ordwin made Grust just such a place, a land where manaketes might live freely with humans. It did not last."

"Why was that, Your Majesty?"

"The Archanean king was displeased with this arrangement and came down on his vassals with a heavy hand. No peace with the dragonkin, said King Cartas. A century later, we find the remnants of that race quite happy to turn yet again against their tormentors- can we consider it a surprise?"

"No, sire."

"Don't you see, Cain, that this is where the heroes of legend all failed? They won the day but left these terrible injustices to stand. And so, in a century, all their works were swept away in a red tide of hatred. If we don't bridge the gap between humans and dragons, this peace will unravel as well, and children yet unborn will have to fight the same terrible wars that we just lived. I cannot leave my own child a world so fated to ruin- not without doing everything in my power to prevent it. I can't."

Cain bowed his head, and closed his eyes also so he could not have to see the light of this impossible hope in his sovereign's eyes.

"I hope that Medeus is _not_ truly gone, Cain, that he sleeps beneath the earth with the rest of his kind. I know the fate of dragons, even in the next world, is not the fate of man...

I hope that, when Medeus does awaken the next time, he finds a world waiting for him and his people. Waiting, not with forged swords and burning arrows, but to welcome them as brothers and sisters, and to make the world whole at last."

This speech, sincere as it was, brought no peace to Cain's heart. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"It is too soon, Your Majesty. You should consolidate your reign before enacting this." It was so easy to say the words- as easy as coloring lines on a map and pretending that alone made one land of seven.

"Perhaps," Marth said as he rolled up the parchment and locked it away in his desk. "But how quickly 'too soon' proves too late..."

-x-

He was half-tempted to go to the queen and confess that he had already failed. Cain could hear the voice in the back of his mind: "So, 'one people' extends even to the dragonkin, does it?"

It was madness.

And yet... wasn't that extension of mercy a repayment of the trust that Lord Gotoh had placed in Marth? What was it the the ancient sage had said in the hour of victory- "You have saved mankind and our dragon tribe"? Was it truly a part of the gods' design to end in reconciliation rather than conquest? Cain wasn't sure, as his heart and head both felt in disarray at that moment, with the answer completely beyond his ken. He retired to the training field to clear his mind, and Catria joined him for a sparring match that afternoon. It always surprised him that her slender wrists could manage a sword as heavy as his own.

"I've always preferred the sword to the lance. It leaves me at a disadvantage at times," Cain said to her as they toweled off after the final match. He'd bested her, but the outcome was closer than he felt comfortable with, given that Catria was foremost a lancer.

"I've become partial to axes, myself," she replied. "Throwing them is a great deal of fun, more fun even than tossing a javelin."

She mentioned in passing an upcoming mission to Pyrathi; Catria and her knights were expected to protect the remote land's manakete population from angered humans, who blamed the dragonkin for the privations Pyrathi had suffered since the death of King Mannu in the war against Medeus. Cain realized at once that Marth intended to use isolated Pyrathi as a testing ground for his manakete amnesty experiment. He tried to debate the matter with Catria, but she would have none of it.

"I am to serve His Majesty's will," she said only, and so left him with the impression that, if Catria the White were asked to integrate the dragonkin into human society, she would do so with the point of her lance. It astounded Cain that she could see the world in such starkly lined terms: the the king desired it, so let his will be done and to hell with the consequences.

At the back of his mind, Cain heard a soft, laughing voice say, "Dame Catria would fly to the sun and light a torch with its fire if our prince asked her to."

_Consider the source_, he then said to himself. The words of a traitor were hardly a means to judge Catria's exceptional loyalty. And her desire to serve was, after all, the standard to which he'd aspired, the standard to which all his own men were trained. But the world was not as it had been three years before, or a year before, or even six months before; Cain could not for the life of him believe any longer that the best way to serve his land and sovereign was to craft himself into a perfect instrument of the king's will.

Hardin, after all, had been loyally served by his men. They had served him perfectly and without question. Cain and Catria had, between them, slain a fair number of those men.

-x-

The king was not paying attention to Cain's reports on the current state of Altea. Marth nodded and made sounds of acknowledgement in all the right places, but he kept glancing down at a tattered piece of paper- a set of song lyrics from a street ballad enjoying popularity in Pales. The song "celebrated" the alleged relationship between Queen Caeda and her former retainer, the Captain of the Talys militia. Captain Ogma had left the continent entirely for parts unknown after the queen's marriage, and the gutter-minded seized upon that fact like crows feasting upon a bloated corpse.

"Your Majesty, if I may ask a question?"

"Oh, certainly." Marth attempted to hide the lyric sheet by stuffing it underneath another stack of papers on his desk.

"Be assured I didn't come to bother you with street gossip." Cain memorized the location of the offensive lyrics and resolved to retrieve and destroy it at the first chance. "When we traveled to Aurelis earlier this year, you spoke of a promise, yet never explained to me any of the details..."

"I expected you'd ask about that."

For a moment, they simply regarded one another. The moment felt familiar, an echo of a time years before, when they had been fugitives- the prince who fled his country and the knight who'd left his lord upon the field, sharing in their shame, in their failure... in their determination to do right and to do better.

"I had thought that..." At untimely moments, the king's command of language failed him, and it seemed this was such a moment. The sentence died on his lips, and Marth drew in a deep, almost ragged breath before speaking again. "I wanted you to have this."

Marth unfastened the dagger from his belt; Cain recognized it as a gift that Emperor Hardin had presented to his young friend shortly after the victory over Medeus. The image of a coyote etched into the blade never had been erased.

"It's a beautiful weapon, Your Majesty. I would be honored to carry it."

"Yes, you will be," Marth replied, and there was something in his voice that Cain truly didn't like. "I thought for some time about which of you should have it- Cain or Catria, Draug or Palla. I decided that Catria would be most efficient in carrying out her orders but that you... you would _understand_."

"Understand, Your Majesty?" No, Cain did _not_ like the direction this was taking.

"It always did pain me that men who once fought alongside me- Hardin's men, Nyna's men- were so quick to believe the worst of my intentions. That they so easily accepted that I wanted more than my allotted share of the world, all out of vainglory and naked ambition. The more I've thought of it, the more I've wondered if they weren't more right than they were wrong. After all, I've misjudged my own allies- my friends- so disastrously; how can I place any faith in my ability to know my own heart?" For a moment, Marth showed a half-smile that did not reach his eyes. "And so, I've decided I need someone else to know me better than I know myself. Not the way that Caeda knows me, or that Elice and Merric do, but at one remove- the distance between the heart and the hand."

Cain stared at his own reflection in the blade; he didn't trust himself to speak, and hardly trusted himself to _breathe_.

"Because, if you remember, Cain- Hardin wasn't so mad that he didn't see his way out. He was depending upon someone to come after him, to save him in the only sense that he could be saved any longer. He depended on me, and I met that obligation. Without knowing it, without _wanting_ it, I did what Hardin truly asked of me. It may be a cruel thing to ask of another person, but sometimes it is necessary."

Cain wished that Marth would come out and say it, would just give him the orders so he wouldn't have to live with the ambiguity. Instead, Marth regarded him with that strange half-smile.

"Always the nay-sayer, Cain. I remember how the others once called you the herald of doom. And yet, I think I can trust you to see when things have truly gone too far."

He thought of Catria for a moment- Catria, blithely shading her eyes as her lord dazzled her, acknowledging her orders with a smile, accepting the Gradivus lance with the understanding that her pure heart could never be touched by the ancient weapon's corruption. Yes, she would be most efficient in carrying out her duties. Always the perfect soldier. And he in turn was the imperfect knight, ever and again on the run with the world falling around him. And each time, he would tell himself that the next time, the next time... he would not run from his fate.

Cain half-expected the dagger's hilt to burn his flesh as his hand closed around it.

-x-

Outside, everything seemed perfectly normal. Cain's steps slowed from a rush to a dawdle as he passed along the colonnade; his heart was again beating at its normal rate when he encountered old Jagen loitering in the fading light. They stood together for a moment regarding the sky- blue fading smoothly into pale gold, pierced by a beacon of light that streamed upward from the disk of the setting sun.

"What is on your mind, sir?"

The senior knight took a moment to respond, and when he did, Cain heard an uncharacteristic softness in his voice.

"I was thinking of all the catching up I'll have to do when I see my Dulcinea again. It might take us a few centuries in the telling, I think."

"What was she like, sir? I don't remember any longer."

"Your aunt?" Jagen raised a white eyebrow, though more in surprise than displeasure. "She was kind and gentle, with the voice of a nightingale. She would run out into the street barefoot to chide a man she caught abusing his horse or his mule. She liked to float jasmine-blossoms in a little bowl of water. She had a parakeet trained to take food from her own lips. And she was pretty- to me, anyway."

"And you miss her still."

"A man who loses a limb may fancy that he feels it aching or tingling long decades later. Then he looks down, sees the leg of his trousers hanging empty, and knows his loss all over again."

Without even intending it, Cain reached out with his left arm to make sure the right, the one holding the dagger, was still attached to his body. The motion caught Jagen's attention, and his eyes crinkled in a sudden smile.

"Ah. So he did go through with it. Good lad."

"You knew of this, sir?"

"Knew that His Majesty planned to give a treasured gift to his most trusted and valuable servant? Of course." Jagen clapped Cain on the shoulder; for all his protests of decline, there was surprising strength in the blow. "Carry it proudly, my boy. It's your share of this marvelous new world."

The things that came from Jagen's mouth chilled Cain's blood at times. But his uncle had, whether he meant it or not, put words to Cain's own situation. He was incomplete, with some vital part of him not merely severed, but burned off, the seared ends of the stump so damaged no healer could piece him back together. Cain didn't even know which loss had done it, or for how long he'd been staggering through life with a piece of himself missing. But he'd long pondered his place in this new world, and that position and place were revealed to him now, in an fleeting burst like the flash of the sun's disk as it disappeared into the ocean. The moment itself had passed, never to be repeated, but it was etched into his memory as a brand.

He heard Abel's voice at the back of his mind, a hollow echo out of time, but no longer could he make out the words.

Cain ran his fingertips over the engraved coyote, then put the dagger firmly in its sheath and the sheath in his belt. It seemed to fit his hand surprisingly well.

-x-

Cain attacked his mounds of paperwork with a renewed sense of purpose. Every obsolete law, every startling new idea, meant something to him now. These were not philosophical points for the sages of Khadein or the new Academy to debate over their _kaffe_, these were the building-stones of the "marvelous new world," and Cain needed to understand them as intimately as he'd learned the name and function of every piece of his old suit of armor.

Catria returned from her mission in Pyrathi with that smile hovering on her lips. Her dragonknights performed brilliantly, she said. The full integration of manaketes into Pyrathi society had begun, and without any civilian casualties. Cain was not in the least surprised when a short time later the Manakete Amnesty Act was issued to great furor; the knights of Altea and everywhere else were had their hands full maintaining the peace for a while, but the reaction proved nowhere near as violent as Cain feared. The reaction was worst in Macedon, where the memory of long enslavement to the dragonkin lingered, but elsewhere- in places were humans had suffered injustice at the hands of other men- the Act was accepted. It was, after all, at least as difficult for an Aurelian plainsman to call a man of the old Holy Kingdom "my friend" as it was for him to break his bread with a manakete. The presence of young Tiki in Pales helped, Cain supposed. The little dragon girl enchanted people with her sweet voice and ready affection, and even if her ears were pointed and her eyes not quite human, she still walked on two feet and had hands instead of claws. Her presence at Marth's court did let people see first-hand what a manakete was, and was not.

So that crisis passed, and Cain braced himself for the next- it would be the coinage issue, he thought, and after that the calendar, and after that, who knew? The bold decisions, the radical changes, might well be what ensured that _this_ time, the new Archanea would endure, and would become in reality what it was on paper: a seamless realm from the northern mountains to the southern islands, from the Straits of Chiasmir to the Galder Ocean. Cain understood Marth well enough now. He would make the world his citadel, a perfect stronghold where no enemy might plausibly challenge him, no ally of consequence might fatally betray him, no overlord could use him for ill purposes again. Marth had both heirs of Grust in his keeping, had Pontifex Wendell in his debt and Archbishop Ellerean under close watch. All else was under Marth's own control, or would be once the Aurelian King died and his lands also passed to Marth.

Could it work? There would always be threats to the peace- pirates, bandits, dark mages warped by the powers they channeled, the hateful remnants of the dragonkin who spat upon amnesty and the humans who offered it. Those distant continents to the west and the south posed unknown dangers. Plague and ruined croplands and the endless circulation of bad money threatened to corrode the new kingdom from the inside out. And yet, it _must_ work. The gods had placed this land in Marth's hands; in a land of failed heroes, he was all they had left, their one light against the falling darkness. Failure was not conceivable.

Somewhere in between his promise to the queen, his promise to the king, and the vows Cain made to himself lay his duty. One from which he could not run, nor turn aside, no matter how foreign was the path before him. And foreign this path was, for there were places where he could not merely follow, but must help to _chart _a course for himself, his sovereign, and all the world.

The old king of Aurelis died near the close of the year, as autumn faded into winter. To some, his death might have seemed an afterthought, the end of his reign a formality. Yet Cain saw genuine grief, and true respect, as he stood witness while the time-honored banner of Aurelis was taken down and the new flag of the Unified Kingdom of Archanea raised in its place. The azure standard with its seven stars, its sheaf of wheat and sheaf of arrows, looked crisp and clean and strikingly modern against the backdrop of old Aurelian pageantry. So did his companion; Knight Commander Catria stood at his side in her smart new dress uniform and saluted the new banner in the Macedonian fashion.

_What is good for Archanea is good for Aurelis_, Cain thought. _The king is dead, long live the king. Long live Archanea_.

Above them the new banner unfurled, blue against blue, its guiding message shining gold in the sunlight. _Peace Under Heaven_.

As he colored in the final piece of blue upon the map, Cain felt no regrets for what had passed away. For the world of men to endure, it must be broken and made anew. So the gods sent them Hardin to break the world, and Marth to mend it. And from this broken world they would create a new one, the likes of which had never been seen- one king, one land, one law, for men and dragons equally. One empire beneath one banner, in between the untouchable skies and the endless sea. Peace under heaven, until the end of man.

**The End**

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**And that's a wrap. This more or less closes out- or possibly begins- my series of interconnected Archanea stories, the Tales of the Unified Kingdom. I am still planning a prequel featuring Cain as a naive young knight on campaign with Marth's father (spoiler: it does not end well), but for the most part, this concludes my attempt at a good-faith depiction of how Marth of Altea successfully took over the world and left the place rather better than he found it. For a flash-forward as to how things went, read "Homecomings" or "By Any Other Name." Now that _Shin Monshou_ has arrived on the scene with its "new and improved(?)" version of events, my little fantasy of post-war Archanea is basically played out. I had fun writing these stories, though, and I hope you enjoyed reading them. Thank you for your time.


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